


Sine Qua Non

by khasael



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khasael/pseuds/khasael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco manage to escape from being trapped in a wine cellar, but their problems don't end there. Voldemort, somewhat inconsiderately, doesn't think to pause the war while they work out their feelings for one another, and the Order is not quite as supportive as Harry had hoped. [A "remix" sequel to Dysonrules' "Need"]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sine Qua Non

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dysonrules](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysonrules/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Need](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/9869) by dysonrules. 



> A few things of note, here: 
> 
> 1) The fic being remixed was written back in 2007, between the release of Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows. As such, both "Need" and this remix are only canon-compliant up to the end of book six. They are, in essence, AU after that point. 
> 
> 2) Though the vast majority of the plot of Deathly Hallows is ignored (including the Hallows themselves), there are two brief nods to the last half of the eighth and final film (both a deleted scene, and another few seconds of film from around the same point in the story), though it's not necessary at all to have seen the film to understand this fic. Those who have seen the film will recognise one fairly easily; the other, I'm certain at least a handful of Drarry shippers will know. 
> 
> _Sine qua non_ refers to an indispensable and essential action, condition, or ingredient. It was originally a Latin legal term for "[a condition] without which it could not be," or "but for..." or "without which [there is] nothing."

For all Draco's efforts in getting the Order of the Phoenix to listen to him since the night Dumbledore had died, for all his sacrifices and careful actions and silenced opinions, nothing seemed quite so game-changing as the moment Potter's breath hitched and he looked at Draco with his mouth slightly agape, eyes glazed, and his hand still on Draco's shoulder. One didn't have to be a Legilimens to know what that look meant — Draco would bet everything in his father's Gringotts vault on it. It was a shock — a _revelation_ — and suddenly everything that had leaked out of him since the moment Peter Pettigrew had confiscated their wands and shoved them into this dingy old wine cellar with that creepy silver hand of his started to flood back: feeling, hope, _purpose_.

Potter seemed to sense the change, suddenly aware that he'd let something slip without meaning to. He yanked his hand away as if he was in danger of losing it, dismay and fear flooding his face. But still, underneath that, Draco saw desire. He smiled wickedly. "I didn't know you swung that way, Potter," he murmured, stepping forward to close the little bit of distance between them. Panicked, Potter backed up, as if he had anywhere to go. He ran out of room soon enough, back pressed up against the stone wall, and Draco followed, not relenting.

Potter didn't respond with words. There was no denial, no refutation, no stammered excuse. Draco took that as a good sign. "What was it you said to me, Potter?" he asked casually, as if this hadn't just changed everything between them.

Potter swallowed so hard Draco could hear his throat make a little clicking sound. "I need your help," he murmured, finally looking up and at Draco. They were so close Draco could feel Potter's breath on his neck, could practically feel the heat of his body through the robes they both wore in this chilly wine cellar.

"That's not quite how you phrased it when you were pushing the wall." He watched as Potter seemed to struggle to remember his earlier words. Draco waited, hearing them in his own head easily: _I need you_. It was obvious at which moment they came back to Potter — he let out a little strangled gasp, and his eyes went wide behind his glasses. "That's what I thought you said," he breathed when Potter's expression and lack of argument confirmed what Draco knew. Not letting the moment get away from him, Draco leaned in the remaining few inches and pressed his mouth against Potter's.

Hands flew up to Draco's chest in an attempt to push him away, but he wasn't having any of that; he caught Potter's wrists as if they were poorly-charmed Snitches, one in each hand, and pinned them to either side of Potter's head. Not unexpectedly, Potter struggled against him fruitlessly until the moment Draco plunged his tongue into Potter's mouth, sliding it against Potter's in light, teasing flicks, until Potter stopped resisting and let out a helpless whine Draco was positive he didn't even register. Invigorated, he pressed a little closer, sucking at Potter's bottom lip, licking at his tongue and the roof of his mouth, and was unable to keep from smirking when he felt Potter press back against him, returning the kiss with enthusiasm, and his hardening cock pressed into Draco's thigh.

There. 

Draco pulled away, giving Potter's lower lip one last teasing nip. He didn't try to hide his smirk at all. He'd won this, and they both knew it. It felt good to be able to gloat about something. He held Potter's gaze, which was livid while being desperate and wanting. Draco only smirked harder, keeping Potter's wrists pinned to the wall. Oh, the things he might have done if Potter'd not required him to hold his hands there...

He didn't think he'd have got much in the way of a fight, really.

"I could kill you right now," Potter said, putting in a good effort at getting himself under control, for all the panting he was doing.

Draco laughed softly. "You're just upset because you don't want to kill me at all — you want me to fuck you right here on this dirty floor."

Potter glared at him; if his dirty looks had half the power of his spell-work, Draco would be laid out on the floor of the cellar, bleeding, in an echo of the moment in the boys' toilets earlier in the year. How far they'd come from that moment, in so little time. He held Potter's gaze, waiting for him to deny his statement, but no denial came. Instead, Potter squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, as he seemed to realise that no answer was just as good as an affirmation.

"Let's get your door open, Potter," Draco said in response, letting go of Potter's wrists and stepping easily backwards. He was turned on, yes, but he seemed to have better control over it than Potter did, and that was satisfying in some way as well. 

Potter opened his eyes, looking at Draco incredulously, as if he'd suddenly proposed they invite some Muggles over to the Manor for tea. "You're willing to help me now?"

With a raised eyebrow, Draco dusted himself off, removing the worst of the dust and grime from his robes. "Certainly. I'm going to make sure you get everything you _need_ from now on." And, with another wide grin as Potter flushed, he turned towards the hidden door that had refused to budge any further under Potter's lone attempts to move it, considering it from this way and that.

It didn't _look_ as if it should be difficult to move. He cursed that rat, Pettigrew, for snagging their wands, though he supposed he was lucky enough to still be alive, now that You-Know-Who had Potter where he wanted him and was about to get the very chance Potter had been denying him, in one way or another, for the last fifteen-plus years. 

Potter was suddenly at his side, close enough to touch, and, tempting though it was to give that another go, Draco figured that it could wait until _after_ they'd made their escape. And if they never did... well, Draco wouldn't have long to regret his decision not to take advantage of Potter's evident attraction. "Do you see anything I don't?"

Draco snorted. "It's a _door_ , Potter, not some portal to another reality. Muggles have those, don't they? Doors?" He ran his fingertips over the heavy, rusted hinges and the swollen frame and frowned. If the ironwood hadn't been so thick, so swollen with the little moisture in the air after hundreds of years of damp weather and poorly-maintained atmospheric charms, they might have had a chance to break through it, if Potter hadn't got anywhere on his own. Then again, if the door were functional, it likely wouldn't have been covered up and hidden, long-forgotten, and giving them a maddening hope of escape. As it was, they'd probably have had more luck moving a boulder away from the entrance.

"Shut up," Potter muttered, moving around to Draco's other side and peering at the small opening he'd managed to create. He slipped his fingers through the slit, grabbing onto the door, braced himself, and shoved, getting absolutely nothing for his trouble but muscle strain. 

Draco just looked at him. "I thought we'd established that you can't move this thing any further without me. You _need_ me, remember?"

"So fucking _help_ me, you prat! Do you think Wormtail's just going to wait to tell Voldemort he has us in their trap? We're on a tight schedule, okay?"

"Oh, really?" Draco snapped. "I hadn't realised time might be of the essence. I thought You-Know-Who might be planning on just letting you starve to death down here, or waiting until I got so frustrated with you that I suffocated you in your sleep. I was trying to see if there was a structural weakness we could exploit, you twit. But there's not. It's old-fashioned manual labour, I'm afraid."

"Oh, great," Potter muttered, pushing up his sleeves; Draco did the same, and Harry crouched just under Draco's shoulder, bracing his hands against the door. "A Malfoy doing manual labour. Well, there go our chances of escape."

"Shut up and just get ready to push." He flattened his palms against the door, which was petrified enough to basically be rock. "On three. One... Two..."

" _Three_ ," Potter grunted, and, if Draco hadn't been shoving so hard he was dizzy, he might have said something about how rude it was to interrupt someone else. They both pushed with all the force they could muster and, after nearly ten seconds of nothing but the blood pounding in Draco's ears and Potter's strained grunting, there was a bone-shuddering screech, and the door beneath their hands moved forward a half-step. "Fucking _finally_ ," Potter panted.

Draco took a moment to step back and stretch his arms. That had been an awful lot of exertion for so little progress. But at least the opening was now wide enough that Draco could get his arm through it up to his shoulder when he moved back into place, ignoring Potter's noises of protest as he did so. He ran his hand against the backside of the door, feeling vines woven tightly over the surface — another barrier, but one that was solely the result of nature's work, and not man's or wizard's. This door had been shut for a very long time indeed. Clay came off in a chunk in his hand, and Draco stepped back again, wiping his hand against the wall. "Leads to the outside," he said in response to Potter's unspoken question. "Possibly a tunnel, given that we should be underground, but it's possible we'll have to get through another door at the end of that, if it hasn't simply been boarded up or the entrance hasn't caved in."

"And your basis for this assumption is...?"

Draco sighed. "Being quite familiar with old estates that contain wine cellars. Don't be stupid. Some of the older pure-blood manors contain Muggle cellars such as this, as a novelty. Not that the best wines are _stored_ there."

Rolling his eyes, Potter rubbed the palms of his hands together and flexed his wrists. "All right. Again?" Draco nodded, putting his hands at shoulder height as he crouched, the heels of his hands almost touching Potter's fingertips. This time, Draco let Potter do all the counting. Four increasingly difficult rounds later, the door had budged enough that Draco put a hand on Potter's back. 

"Wait."

"Oh, come on," Potter said breathlessly, looking like he might pass out. "You can't give up. We're close, damn it."

"I'm not giving up," Draco panted. "I'm... Look. I think... I think I can actually fit through that opening."

Potter looked up at him, letting himself fall with his back against the wall, hands on his thighs as he bent over and tried to get his breath back. "You think so?"

Draco rested his face against the door, not caring how dirty it was. It would be a tight squeeze, but he was certain he could make it. "Yeah. How about you?"

"If you can fit, I can. You're taller."

"Well, then," Draco said, staring at the opening and willing himself to fit through it, as if that might help. "See you outside." And, before he could rethink his decision, he stuck one leg and one arm through the gap, flattened his chest and stomach as much as possible, and forced himself through it, turning his head to the side.

Fuck, that was tight. 

He couldn't see Potter any more, but he could feel his hands pressing him through, one on Draco's shoulder and one on his hip. With a grunt, Draco emerged out the other side, only to end up tangled in an unholy web of thick vines. He struggled through them, wishing for his wand and the ability to sever them with one muttered word and a quick flick, and finally tore free. His robes would never be the same, and he thought he might be missing a fair patch of skin from between his shoulder blades, but he was _out_. There was a small spot of less-dark a little way down — not bright enough to properly be called "light" — and he squinted, trying to identify it. After a moment, he shook his head, grumbled about his lack of wandless abilities, and headed for it. Behind him, he could hear Potter's voice, frustrated and angry, but it quickly faded the further Draco made it through the tunnel he'd been right about. 

After a bit, his eyes adjusted, and he had an easier time picking out the stone path covered in a thick layer of decaying vegetation. Another minute, maybe two, and he'd reached a sharp turn in the path. Just beyond that lay a stairwell leading up to ground level, the opening only partially obscured by shrubbery. 

Draco blinked. They were going to get out of here after all. The top few steps had crumbled, but, with two people working together, it could be done. As long as they made it out of here before anyone decided it was time to haul Potter out of that cellar, they'd be all right.

He headed back the way he'd come, keeping an ear out for anything that didn't sound right. He heard nothing until he got closer to the hidden door, and then there was only the sound of Potter's frustrated growling and straining, and what sounded like some very unflattering things about Draco.

"You're lucky this wine cellar doesn't let noise carry very far," Draco called from the other side of the opening, hearing Potter go suddenly silent. "Merlin, Potter, complain enough? I wasn't gone _that_ long." He pressed himself up against the opening and looked in to see Potter standing there, looking at him with wide, surprised eyes.

"You didn't leave," Potter finally said, disbelief plain on his face.

"Oh, yes, the Order would have _loved_ hearing my excuse, I'm certain," Draco said, rolling his eyes. " _I_ was _going to help him get out_ ," he said in the high, prissy voice Potter probably used when he imitated him to his friends, " _but he couldn't get through the door. So I left him there for a few days, thinking I'd go back when he lost some weight_." He snorted. "Yes, they'd accept that answer. I went to see if there was a way out, you incomparable moron. There is, by the way. In case you were wondering. Now stop assuming the worst about me, wedge yourself in that gap, and give me your arm already. I'm going to pull you out, if you'll stop whinging. No one's figured we have any chance at escape, but I have no idea how long it might be before You-Know-Who shows up."

"You're actually going to help me," Potter murmured, and Draco sighed again. He'd spent weeks with the Order by this point, trying to convince them he was on their side, but apparently Potter still refused to believe it, no matter what sort of proof he provided.

"Not if you don't shut up and start working with me," Draco snapped. "Hurry up, Potter. Get a move on. I don't exactly feel like being collateral damage when people start showing up, like Diggory was."

"Bastard," Potter growled, but at least that got him to move. 

Draco might have been taller than Potter was, but it seemed Potter had some muscle on him these days, because it was undoubtedly difficult to yank him through. He finally popped free, hissing as his knee twisted when his foot caught in the gap at the bottom of the door. "Watch it," he huffed, reaching down to rub at it before taking a few careful steps and apparently deciding it could hold his weight.

"You know, other people might say 'thank you', in this situation," Draco remarked, turning towards the direction of the exit. "But then, other people have some semblance of manners."

"Says the person who _stamped on my face and broke my nose_ at the beginning of sixth year," Potter shot back. 

"Looks fine to me," he said, grabbing Potter by the arm and tugging at him until he started walking on his own. "No worse than it was before. Hurry up, Potter. " He led the way down the tunnel, pulling Potter around the corner when they reached it. Potter had shit for night-vision, it seemed, and those glasses certainly didn't seem to be any help. "Here," he said, gesturing up the stairwell. "Up there."

Potter looked up, squinting as he surveyed the extent of the damage, and sighed. "Think you could give me a leg up? I can help pull you up after. Return the favour, you know?"

"Good to know you don't plan on leaving me down here," Draco said, running his hand over the wall to see if it might hold his weight without crumbling further, burying them under debris. It looked as though it would hold.

Potter locked eyes with him. "I'd never leave you or anyone else here while I escaped," he said firmly, stepping up into Draco's hands, clasped together and rested upon his thigh, when Draco gave him the go-ahead. 

Draco gave a shove upwards once Potter's hands found purchase on something solid . "I know," he muttered, watching the pair of dirty trainers disappear above him as Potter hauled himself out of the tunnel. "That's because you're you."

"What'd you say?" Potter whisper-hissed from up above him, crouching down and reaching for Draco, ever the perfect hero.

"Nothing." He gripped Potter's offered hands and scrabbled against the wall, trying to help himself up as Potter gave a great yank, nearly pulling Draco's shoulder from its socket. He struggled the rest of the way out of the hole, his robes now absolutely covered in filth. Once he was out, he stood up, gave himself a cursory dusting-off, and looked at Potter, outlined by the lights from the monastery behind him, where Pettigrew appeared to be oblivious to their escape. "So," he murmured in the eerily quiet night. "Now what?"

— O —

Harry scanned the field around them, paying special attention to the monastery from which they had just escaped, and then the direction of the front gates. Neither showed any hint of activity, but Harry still thought heading in either direction would be especially stupid. "What do you mean, 'now what?' Now we get the hell out of here. Off this property and to somewhere safe. Come on," he said, tugging at Malfoy's torn and dirty robes, gesturing to where the property gave way to a forest of some sort. "This way."

"Why is it things with you always end up meaning I have to wander around a forbidding-looking forest in the dark?" Malfoy grumbled, and Harry rolled his eyes and tugged again. Malfoy pulled back and snorted. "Wait. You actually mean for me to follow you right this second?"

"That was sort of the idea I had when I'd considered escaping, yes."

"Without our _wands_?" Malfoy pressed.

"What?" Harry looked up into Malfoy's horrified face and groaned inwardly. "Seriously, Malfoy, we've got to go."

"Fuck that, Potter. I'm not leaving without my wand. We might as well not even bother escaping if we won't have the ability to use magic."

Harry ran a hand roughly through his hair. He might still end up bald after all, if they weren't caught and killed before they even made an attempt to get off the property. Malfoy was infuriating sometimes. "Look, I've lived longer without one than with. It'll be fine. We can just get replacements later."

"Not on your life. Nothing works for you like the wand that chose you first. What kind of wizard doesn't know that?"

"The kind who's most interested in getting the hell out of here alive?"

Malfoy shook his head. "I meant it, Potter. We might as well not even bother escaping without our wands. Do you really want to attempt to fight You-Know-Who with a wand you can't trust?"

Well, okay, that wasn't a completely awful point, Harry had to admit. Still, he couldn't _say_ that.

He didn't need to. Whether Malfoy used Legilimency on him or just saw it on his face, he caught the sentiment clearly enough. "Come on. We have to at least go and look. The monastery's not large. Just a quick peek through the windows. If it looks impossible, I'll admit it and we'll leave without them, all right? But either way, I'm going to check it out — with or without you, Potter." And with that, he huffed and strode for the monastery.

_ Fuck _ , Harry thought, once again tugging at his hair. He'd said he wouldn't leave Malfoy down in that cellar to await whatever punishment might be dealt to someone who'd turned traitor to Voldemort, and then let him escape on top of it, and he'd meant it. And though everything about this seemed like a bad idea (except, of course, for having his own wand, which he'd always been able to count upon), he couldn't let Malfoy be stupid like this. They'd walked into one trap and back out tonight, though, so maybe — just maybe — their luck would hold.

Malfoy moved quickly, his long legs carrying him across the field and to the monastery before Harry got two thirds of the way there. When he caught up, Malfoy was standing against the wall outside one of the windows, finger pressed to his lips to indicate the rather obvious need to keep as quiet as possible. Harry had to give him at least _some_ credit — he did seem like he was trying to be careful in not getting caught. 

He really wished his Invisibility Cloak wasn't back at Grimmauld Place. It would be nice to know they could get a really good look through the windows without the fear of being spotted. Silencing spells were out, and Harry realised that a good number of other helpful tactics were out until they retrieved their wands or got replacements, annoyed that Malfoy had probably put that together before he had.

_ No one but Pettigrew _ , Malfoy mouthed silently, and he gestured to the window with his head. _See for yourself_.

Standing up onto the tips of his toes, Harry peered through the dirty window. The monastery was indeed fairly small, and quite simple in layout. He could see Wormtail moving around at the far end of the room, the place lit by dim lamps. Through another doorway, Harry could see a number of candles flickering, the flames throwing shadows that danced across one wall. Probably for some ritual or other Voldemort had planned in order to ensure his success in killing Harry once and for all. 

Trying to push that thought away, Harry craned his neck and looked around the room some more, going still when he saw the table halfway across the room, along one of the walls. It was a beat-up-looking thing, nothing special, but upon it sat a small silver satin pillow, on which Harry's wand lay. Just off to the side, looking as if it had been placed there as an afterthought, was Malfoy's wand.

"I can see them," Harry whispered, lowering himself flat on his feet and placing his mouth next to Malfoy's ear. "They're on an old table. I'm sort of surprised they haven't been destroyed."

Malfoy turned his head, so close that Harry could nearly feel his lips brush against his cheekbone, before he exhaled softly in a sigh. "He probably needs them — well, _yours_ — for something important before he can kill you." Before Harry could smack him on the arm or shove him a bit, Malfoy's eyes went back to the window, tracking some sort of movement. After a moment, his mouth quirked in a wry smile. "Pettigrew's just left the room, carrying a pile of things. If we can get through that open window around the corner without making much noise, I think we might have a shot." Without waiting for an answer, Malfoy stooped so that his head was below the level of the window and started creeping along the outer wall, moving with a startling lack of noise.

"Right," he whispered in Harry's ear as they both huddled underneath the open window. He'd already tossed a small wild mushroom he'd picked through the window, apparently satisfied they'd be safe to enter. They couldn't see the table from here, as the angle was wrong, but it was obvious the room was still empty. "I'll go in and get them. You stay here and... protect us or something."

"You're out of your mind," Harry hissed, tugging at Malfoy's robes to keep him in place. "If anyone's retrieving them, it's me."

"And what makes you the automatic choice? This was _my_ idea, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but I've got better reflexes and speed."

Malfoy glared. "You think _you're_ the better physical specimen? On what grounds do you base that assumption?"

"The fact that I made Seeker as a first-year, and you never actually beat me to the Snitch."

Malfoy gave him an icy look, eyes narrowed, and Harry was struck by an unexpected desire to feel Malfoy's hands on him, rough and frustrated. He shoved that thought away into a cupboard and triple-locked it. "You're an utter prat, Potter, no matter how decently you kiss."

Ignoring the second half of that sentence, Harry shifted so that he was standing directly between Malfoy and the window. "But I'm _right_. You stay here and keep an eye out. I'll be right back."

"What am I supposed to do if someone comes past and spots me?" Malfoy muttered as Harry tentatively hauled himself up into the window frame. "Throw mushrooms and pebbles at them while they use their wands to hex me?"

"You'll think of something," Harry replied, relieved that the window was indeed unguarded and hadn't been spelled safe from intruders. Then again, they were supposed to be locked in a cellar whose main door _had_ been charmed in a number of ways to keep them inside, so it wasn't as if Wormtail had any reason to be concerned with any other area of the monastery.

"I'm coming back to haunt you if you're the only one that lives through this," Malfoy said as Harry slid the rest of the way inside. Harry hoped like hell he'd stay quiet while he was on lookout duty. Besides, as long as he didn't do something stupid, like trip over warped flooring or walk into the table and knock things over, he'd be out of here in well under a minute. 

He made it around the heavy-looking bookshelf that blocked the view of the table from the window without so much as brushing it and, offering up a prayer that Voldemort would take at least a few more minutes to arrive and that Wormtail wouldn't suddenly come back into the room for something he'd forgotten, he stood in front of the table, took a quick look at the closed door that hid him from Wormtail, and reached out for his wand.

He didn't even get to touch it before pain flared through his hand and snaked up his arm, twisting and moving as if it were something alive and hungry. It reached his shoulder and spread through his chest, sinking deep into him, mimicking the beat of his heart until he could feel the pulse of it throughout his entire body. He would have cried out — would have hit his knees, helpless to support himself, in fact — but whatever spell had been put in place to keep his wand safe had frozen him to the spot. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, but at least he could breathe. 

Though he did wonder whether that was temporary, as something hot and tingling slowly wrapped around his ribs, making him want to pull at his robes in an attempt to loosen them.

Harry didn't know how long he had been stuck with his hand outstretched and his head turned slightly to the side, but, by the time Malfoy appeared in his field of vision, looking at him with an expression of exasperation, Harry was wondering if it might be possible to vomit from pain while petrified. "Oh, for fuck's sake," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. He might actually have only mouthed it; Harry couldn't hear him over the pounding in his head and his body, and the pain had sort of whittled down his field of focus to a narrow tunnel.

Asking for help — and it might actually have closely resembled begging, if he'd had a voice — was out of the question right now and, even if Harry knew Morse code (and if, by some even more unlikely miracle, Malfoy did as well), he couldn't blink. His eyes were a bit dry, but that low level of discomfort was overridden by everything else. So instead, he tried the only thing he could think of: he tried to shout his message into Malfoy's head. He was a Legilimens, for Merlin's sake — he ought to be able to get a basic "HELP ME" if it was _pushed_ into his head.

Or maybe not.

Malfoy walked in a slow circle around the table, considering Harry, then made a second trip around, his eyes on their wands. Specifically, Harry realised, his own wand, set off to the side as if it didn't matter. Harry could see him calculating as he stood on the other side of the table, and then he nodded to himself, stepping closer to the table. He looked back at the closed door and then back to Harry. "Didn't you even _consider_ boobytraps?" he whispered, shaking his head as if he was wondering how someone had decided the potential dispatcher of evil should be a mentally unfit moron. 

Harry wanted to shove him and retort that he was more the sort of person who prepared for attacks from people he could see and that, perhaps if he'd been the sort of person who was okay with transporting cursed necklaces and poisoned mead and other devious, _Slytherin_ -style methods of attack, he might have known a way to check for this sort of thing. Instead, he just settled for thinking that if he _did_ vomit, he was going to try bloody hard to do it on Malfoy, as retaliation for standing there instead of actually doing something.

With a small grin, Malfoy shook his head. "Too bad the silence will probably end as soon as I release you," he murmured, taking a deep breath and reaching for his wand. His hand wrapped around it easily; he looked relieved and finally turned to face Harry, whispering some spell that wasn't _Finite Incantatem_. Whatever had been holding Harry in place disappeared at once, and he collapsed gracelessly into a heap at the foot of the table.

"Oh, fuck me, that _hurt_ ," he moaned, coughing and retching as full control of his body was returned to him. The pulsating pain was gone with the petrification, but he still felt its echo in the absence of the curse, and the tightness in his chest and the waves of nausea, though receding, had not disappeared when the spell had ended. He wanted to roll over onto his side and lie there until he felt normal again, but he knew there wasn't time. 

Confusion flitted over Malfoy's face before he grasped the nature of the situation. "That spell included an element of pain?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "If I had known, I'd have acted sooner."

Harry wasn't completely certain that was true but, given the course of the evening, it might have been. He stood up, taking a few deep breaths. Each hurt less than the one before it, and that was further good luck. "Doesn't matter now. Come on." He eyed his wand, wondering whether Malfoy's spell had disarmed the charm for good, or if it had been set to activate only once, or only for the wand's owner... or whether another attempt would land him in the same situation. Fuck it. If something happened, Malfoy could release him from the spell again, since he obviously knew an effective incantation. They'd come this far, Malfoy had _his_ wand, and Harry wasn't about to just give up. 

Malfoy levitated Harry's wand off the pillow with a swift flick of his wrist before Harry could reach for it again, and Harry caught it easily. Half a second later, a shrill noise, not unlike that of an old-fashioned kettle, emanated from the silk pillow, filling the room. "Shit," Malfoy said as they heard clambering just outside the door. " _Move_ , Potter."

Harry didn't have to be told twice. "So much for an easy escape," he muttered, grabbing Malfoy by the wrist and yanking him towards the open window as the only door to the room burst open, half a dozen Death Eaters swarming into the space. He shot a hex back over his shoulder, and heard someone let out a startled yell; the sound of breaking wood and porcelain followed just after. Harry scrambled out the window and, by the time he regained his footing enough to run without falling flat on his face, Malfoy was diving out after him, tucking himself into a ball and rolling with a deftness Harry would never have thought him capable of. He fired off his own hex, one Harry didn't recognise, and someone just inside the window shrieked. Not a full second later, a bolt of yellow light whizzed just between them, blowing a man-sized hole into the dirt it struck not far ahead of them. Harry leapt and cleared it, Malfoy hot on his heels, and he tried not to think what that spell would have done to either of them, had it met a human target.

"This way!" Malfoy shouted, veering to the left, away from the monastery's gates and towards the bit of woods at the edge of the property instead. 

Harry didn't have time to ask why, or consider other options. Wormtail and three other Death Eaters had made it out of the building and were not far behind, all of them shouting hexes and curses. Harry managed to dart behind a tree as Bellatrix Lestrange tossed a Cruciatus at him, only getting a few bits of blasted-apart wood in the face instead of an Unforgiveable. He threw back a Jelly-Legs Jinx and missed. A second spell, this one charming some low-hanging branches to bend and block easy access to the path he and Malfoy were taking, was more successful, if her shouts were anything to go by.

They were a fair way into the thicket when Malfoy suddenly stopped running, Harry very nearly ploughing into the back of him. He was about to ask if Malfoy'd got himself lost when, panting heavily, Malfoy grabbed him firmly by the bicep. Before Harry could say anything, the jolt of Side-Along Apparition caught him and tossed him about before he stumbled onto the pavement of a dark alleyway, nearly going face-first into the side of a large metal skip. Malfoy kept hold of his arm until Harry was steady on his feet. He yanked his arm away and looked around, trying to figure out whether to address their location or Malfoy's random Apparition ability first. "Where are we?" he asked after a moment, feeling the other question could wait until they were sure they weren't about to be ambushed again.

Malfoy looked at him like he was an idiot, huffing. "What do you mean? You know this part of London better than I do."

Harry peered out into the street, watching all the cars go past. Definitely an area more Muggle than Wizard. It hit him after a moment — they were somewhere along Caledonian Road, not terribly far from Grimmauld Place. "No."

"Well, fine, I suppose I can get us there, if your sense of direction's that terrible, but — "

"No, I mean, no, we can't go to Grimmauld Place. We can't go to any of the Order safehouses, or to the homes of any of the members."

Looking at him like he was mad, Malfoy just sort of stared at him for a moment, a smudge of mud drying over a welt on his cheek. "And why not? The point of a safehouse _is_ to have a safe place to go, is it not?"

Harry shook his head. "Of course it is. And, normally, I'd say you're right. But after such a conspicuous escape, with that many people on our tails, we can't risk leading them straight to the Order. They'll _assume_ that's where we've gone, both to report what we might have seen, and to hide somewhere we think is secure. The safest thing for us to do, for us and everyone else, is to go somewhere neutral and unknown. You have to Apparate us there."

"And where's 'there', exactly?" Malfoy scoffed, arms folded across his chest. "If you've got some unknown safe place, now would be the time to let me in on that, don't you think?"

"I don't have anywhere," Harry said, sighing heavily. He couldn't think of a single place that wouldn't put someone he loved in danger, and also wouldn't be somewhere Voldemort and his followers might eventually figure to look. "What about you? Think, Malfoy. Anywhere out of the way, that no one knows about, where we could stay for a bit."

"I don't have anywhere!" Malfoy growled. "Besides, I think you're wrong. We'd be safest with the Order, who could protect us. Skill aside, the sheer number of members would help keep us safe. I'm not Apparating us anywhere other than straight to someone we can trust. Hence, my relocating us to this dingy little Muggle street."

"If we go to the Order, we put innocent people in danger!" Harry wondered whether Malfoy was so stubborn and self-centred naturally, or if it was something he had to try at. "I swear to Merlin, I will hex you here and now if you don't Apparate us out of here before someone finds us."

Malfoy's expression suddenly changed from irritated to something resembling the look he'd had when lit up by the moonlight in the wine cellar, just before he'd moved in to kiss Harry. "Maybe it happens that I've thought of somewhere," he said smoothly, stepping up to face Harry directly. "And maybe it's even somewhere I can Apparate us." He paused, expression sliding into something Harry could best describe as a leer. "What'll you do for me then, Potter?" He punctuated the question with a light jab of his finger into Harry's sternum.

"If you truly have somewhere, just fucking Apparate us, and do it _now_ ," he snarled, grabbing onto Malfoy's arm. He was still feeling the effects of the curse from back in the monastery and, between lingering pain and nausea and a bit of dizziness, and Malfoy's insistence on being difficult, he was feeling more than a little short-tempered. "Or it won't even matter, because we'll be found again and dead before sunrise."

"I do like it when you're forceful," Malfoy murmured into his ear, and then they were on their way again, Harry just hoping like hell that wherever they ended up, it was somewhere they'd be safe and out of the way, where they could rest and figure out what to do next.

— O —

It had taken him a few moments of racking his brain — even when his instincts told him it was a stupid thing to do, no matter what Potter said — to come up with a place that was both out of the way and unknown, where he and Potter could hunker down until they were certain no one had followed them away from the monastery. He Apparated them there, completely unsure what they would find when they arrived. Draco had never personally been to this location; he'd only heard about it during a single conversation with his great-grandfather, back when he had been maybe five years old. The eldest living Malfoy had rhapsodised about it for a while, even sketching it out on an scrap piece of parchment, until Draco's great-aunt had come in to the study and shooed him away, muttering about him getting the old man worked up.

He did hope, just before they reached their destination, that the place wasn't just some pile of long-destroyed rubble. Though if it was, perhaps Potter could be persuaded to see sense and go back to London.

"Is this where you meant to bring us?" Potter asked after he stopped wobbling. He certainly seemed more unsteady than he had earlier tonight, but Draco supposed the exertion of moving that door, and then running through the wood to escape Death Eaters, took a reasonable toll. Merlin knew that, were it not for the adrenaline that hadn't completely faded from his veins, he might also be ready to fall over.

"Yes," Draco said shortly. It wasn't much to look at, but Potter had expressly said he wanted something no one knew about, somewhere out of the way. This was the only place Draco had been able to think of where no one would think to look, which didn't involve them sleeping in a cave or under open sky, and wouldn't diminish his Gringotts account. While a posh resort, or even a decent-quality hotel, would have been his first choice, he knew that such a place wouldn't meet Potter's 'hiding' requirement. 

"How do you know about this place?"

Draco heard the underlying question: _how do you know no one else knows about this place?_ "My great-grandfather told me about it once. It's an old Malfoy-owned cottage that no one's used since he was a little boy. It's one of the dozens of properties that would have gone to my father, after his father passed away, as some little footnote in estate paperwork. That's why it's in disrepair — no one, Black or Malfoy, would want to voluntarily spend time in the _woods_ , so no one's bothered with upkeep, or even acknowledging its existence." He snorted as Potter just looked at him sceptically. "Besides, it's on the Malfoy side, and I'm ninety-nine percent positive my mother doesn't even know it exists, so my aunt won't know about it, either. We're safe here. Totally unknown territory."

Potter considered that for a moment, then nodded. "And it won't collapse on us the second we walk through the door?"

"... Probably not."

"Oh, that's ctomforting. But it's better than nothing, I suppose. Come on. Let's check out the inside." He opened the small front gate that had probably once been a quaint picket fence, and just shook his head when it creaked on rusty old hinges and fell onto the ground. "Right." He made his way up the path, not even waiting for Draco, and murmured a few spells before simply turning the doorknob and pushing the door open. "Hello?" he called, after casting a _Lumos_. "Anyone?"

"I've already told you," Draco sighed. "There's no one alive who knows about this place."

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to surprise some ancient house-elf or something. The door wasn't exactly secure, either — how would we know if something hadn't taken to living here to keep out of the elements?"

Draco shrugged. "Fine. Just know that you look pretty stupid, calling out to an empty, rundown cottage."

"Yeah, well, at least I'm checking for danger."

"Says the idiot who failed to consider boobytraps on his wand."

"Oh, shut up and help me get this place looking somewhat liveable," Potter scowled, lighting a number of lamps around the main room and sucking the thick layer of dust off the old sofa. "Middle of the forest," he sighed to himself. "Where the hell are Snow White and all her house-cleaning animal friends when you need them?"

"I'm sorry, _what_ are you babbling about?"

Potter snorted. "Nothing. Muggle reference. Come on. You've got to know _some_ tidying and cleaning charms, right?"

"You're kidding me, aren't you? Why would I need to know those? I'm neither poor nor a house-elf." Potter's eye twitched and, just to watch his facial expression, Draco cast a spell over the small coffee table at his shins, smirking at the resulting look on Potter's face. "Well, just because I don't _need_ them doesn't mean I haven't _learnt_ them at some point in time," he said as innocently as he could manage.

"You're an utter berk," Potter said, shaking his head and going back to lighting more lamps and removing most of the dust and grime from the furniture.

"No, I'm the person who's saved your arse more than once tonight, if you'll recall."

There was a long pause as Potter moved towards the back of the cottage where it was still dark. "Fine. Then you're both." He stepped carefully as he picked his way across the floor and grimaced as it creaked in protest. "I hope you've also learned how to mend bones," he said, gripping his wand more tightly, "in the likelihood that I crash right through these floorboards."

"I suppose we'll see about that," Draco said, waving him off and heading towards the kitchen. A quick series of spells showed no infestations of insects or other vermin — only a few long-abandoned spider webs in the corners. There was an old cooking range in the corner — primitive, but Draco thought he could manage to make it work with some basic spells if Potter couldn't. Of course, they likely wouldn't even need it. He didn't exactly feel like going out into the wood tonight and catching something for a meal, and they'd be back in London before the day got long tomorrow. He could wait.

Potter moved back towards the front of the cottage within a few more moments. "Nothing out of the ordinary back there. Just a bath with a tap that actually works, and a toilet that I didn't test, through that door. No bedrooms."

Draco groaned. He himself had found a linen cupboard with a stack of blankets that had probably been very plush at one point in time, but were now musty and flat-looking. There was a spot in the corner opposite where Potter had found the bathroom, on the other side of the kitchen, that looked like it was meant to serve as a sleeping area. No wonder no one in the Malfoy family had bothered with this place in generations. Why sleep on the floor of an old cabin, when you had a Manor with suites of rooms? "I don't suppose you're up for conjuring a nice, comfortable bed?"

"Me? Why not you? Aren't you the one who conjured that stupid snake during Duelling Club back in second year? A bed should be no problem."

Glaring, Draco muttered a spell, his wand pointed at the spot in the corner. Something like a large mattress appeared there, looking pristine amongst all the dirt. He tried another spell and only succeeded in making the mattress plump up. "Apparently, I'm no good at bed frames," he muttered after another two tries.

Potter shrugged. "Well, a mattress is better than nothing. Especially one that looks that comfortable." He walked over to it and nudged it lightly with the side of his shoe, as if testing to check that it wouldn't attack him. Draco clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the smudge of black that Potter's trainer left on the white cotton. " _Accio_ pillow," he murmured, hand out. He caught the first easily as it flew to him from the linen cupboard, but stumbled when a second emerged from the bottom of a stack of blankets and hit him while his back was turned. "Sneaky, Malfoy-owned objects," he grunted, tossing the second one at Draco.

"You're not seriously taking the mattress _I_ conjured and leaving me with that dingy sofa?" Draco asked as Potter moved around towards the other side of the mattress, against the wall. 

"Well, I'm not sleeping on the sofa. You can if you want but, seriously, this thing's big enough for approximately four full-grown people. Plenty of room for you to use it, too, without worrying about getting too close." He wavered again, one hand going out to brace himself on the wall. "Fuck," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache.

"All right. Fine." Draco sighed and got up off the sofa, levitating some of the blankets over to the bed and casting half a dozen freshening charms on them. By the time he was done, they looked less dingy, and didn't smell quite so bad. He tossed Potter two of them, keeping three for himself. If he wanted any more, he knew where the linen cupboard was. "We're here. You've apparently satisfied yourself that it's safe, or safe enough. So, what, we sleep now and head for the Order's headquarters in the morning?"

Potter shook his head tiredly, leaning back against the wall. "No. That's nowhere near enough time for things to die down. We can't go back until Voldemort and his followers let their guard down again, and we can't risk contacting anyone, either. A week, at absolute minimum. More likely, a month."

"You're fucking kidding me, aren't you? Stuck in this place, by ourselves, for _that long_?"

"Not kidding, Malfoy. Wish I was."

"Damn it, Potter, there had better be some sort of payoff for this. Hot, dirty, stuck-in-a-secluded-cottage sex, at the very least."

Opening his mouth to reply with something sarcastic or disparaging, Potter stopped before he even got a full word out. Draco watched as his face went pale, just before he sat heavily on the other side of the mattress. When he did speak, his voice was tired, that sharp tone gone. "That's a giant 'no' on so many levels, I don't even know where to begin," he said, sighing. "I was sort of thinking we'd, you know, start preparing for war. I'm going to need to teach you some basic spells." He rubbed at his face. "But seriously, I need to sleep. I still feel awful from whatever that curse on my wand was."

For the first time, Draco considered that freeing Potter from that Petrification spell hadn't been the end of the problem, and something within him twinged with guilt and possibly even worry. "You don't... you don't need to go to St Mungo's, do you?" He could manage some healing spells, but if Potter was truly good and cursed, Draco's limited knowledge wasn't going to cut it.

"No," Potter said, shaking his head as he kicked off his trainers and struggled out of his robes, revealing a thin undershirt and a pair of Muggle underpants that didn't look quite as ridiculous on him as Draco thought they would have. There were a few small bruises along Potter's arms, and a few scratches around his shins. "I just need sleep. The nausea and dizziness will go away. It's just the residual effects of that spell and the adrenaline crash."

_ But what if they don't, and it isn't? _ Draco wondered as Potter more or less collapsed onto the mattress, spelling his pillow larger and wrapping his arms around it, head and chest both supported. He stretched, yawning as if he truly was just over-exerted and not dying of some nasty, unchecked curse, and Draco had time to admire the way his muscles looked as he tensed, before Potter pulled the blankets up over himself. He thought back to the way Potter's body had felt earlier, pressed against his as they snogged until Potter had been breathless. "Hey, Potter?" he asked a few moments later as they lay there, the lamps already dark in the cottage.

"What?" came the mumbled reply.

"I don't suppose you need a little snogging or fooling around, to help you sleep soundly?"

There was a muffled sort of snort, and Draco couldn't tell if it was startlement or amusement or irritation at the question. "Go to sleep, Malfoy."

Grumbling, Draco rolled over and adjusted his own pillow with his wand. "Not even a thanks-for-saving-my-life shag," he muttered. "How typical."

— O —

Eight days into their stay at the abandoned Malfoy cottage, Harry thought they might actually be making some sort of progress. 

"That's better!" he said enthusiastically as Malfoy deflected another of his hexes with a shouted _Protego!_ "Didn't even hit you at all, that time!"

Malfoy glared at him, still a bit out of breath. "Yeah, well, why don't you let _me_ have a turn at flinging hexes while _you_ shield yourself?"

Hesitating, Harry considered that. Malfoy had already demonstrated a few of the hexes and jinxes he knew — some little more than inconvenient pranks, though two of them could easily be used to considerable effect in a battle. "Maybe tomorrow," he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. "First, why don't I teach you the Reductor Curse? We can practise on that old stone pillar or whatever it is."

"What's the matter, Potter, don't you trust me?"

Well, that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? He knew — logically, that was — that he should trust Malfoy. He'd pulled Harry's arse out of that wine cellar quite literally, and then Apparated them to safety _twice_. He'd even managed to get the Order to trust him in the months since appearing on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, apparently shown the way by Severus Snape. He hadn't accepted any of Harry's arguments as to his loyalty or spy status once the Order had shown him in, and had in fact given Harry quite a bit of startling when he'd basically dragged Harry into his mind to share the memory of his conversation with Snape, occurring mere hours after Dumbledore had plummeted from the Astronomy Tower. Faced with the image of Severus nearly breaking down as he told Malfoy of his promise to himself about keeping Harry's mother safe and his failure to do so, and then watching as Snape explained he'd only obeyed Dumbledore's orders in striking him with that final curse... well, Harry had had to take a few moments to sit on his bed with his head between his knees, taking deep breaths.

Logically, with his mind, yes, he trusted Malfoy. He'd just spent so damned long — years, actually — patently _not_ trusting him that he didn't seem able to internalise that trust. "I trust you," he said finally, knowing that he'd paused far too long before answering. One corner of Malfoy's mouth turned up in a sneer, and Harry did the only thing he could think of that might repair some of the damage from his delayed response: he stepped directly in front of Malfoy and locked eyes with him. "You saved my life at least twice in one night," he said solemnly, and that sneer slid right off Malfoy's face, replaced with something like bewilderment. Harry could feel him try to slide into his mind, the Legilimency subtler and not nearly so unpleasant as it had been with Snape, and made no effort to stop him, still looking right at him. 

Malfoy was out in a second, apparently satisfied enough with whatever he'd found. "Well, you're trying, at least," he murmured, dipping his head in acknowledgement. Then he looked up at Harry coyly, a malicious little smirk lingering at the edges of his mouth. "And you think I'm gorgeous. Funny, you never said that aloud."

"Damn it, Malfoy, how am I supposed to trust you when you go looking for things like that?"

"Who went looking? Not my fault it was at the forefront of your mind just now."

Shit, it had been, hadn't it? Just some idle thought about the way the sunlight lit up his hair and the way his flushed cheeks made him look even better than usual, but it had been there. "Shut up and focus," Harry said, clearing his throat. "You might need some of these spells." He didn't look at Malfoy again as he demonstrated the wand movement necessary for _Reducto_ , too aware he'd only see that smirk. "Let's see you try."

"Won't even let me have a moment to enjoy that little bit of information," Malfoy grumbled but, after sighing as if he were terribly put-upon, he drew himself up and attempted the spell. A bolt of faint blue light shot from his wand and connected with the stone pillar, sending chips of rock into the air. "Well, that was hardly impressive."

"It wasn't bad for a first attempt, either," Harry told him. "You just need to adjust your motion a little. Here, like this." He stepped behind Malfoy and reached out to adjust his grip, not even aware he was essentially pressed fully against the other boy until the moment his fingers slid over Malfoy's, his thin, long fingers disappearing as Harry's hand covered his and rotated his wrist and bent his elbow just a few more degrees.

Malfoy made a little humming sound and turned his head slightly to the right, their faces now so close it wouldn't be too hard to move just a little more and connect in a kiss. "How's it feel to have my wand in your hand?" Malfoy murmured, stepping back into Harry's half-embrace until they were connected from fingertips to shoulders and all the way down to their right hips. "Almost like holding yours, but with subtle differences? Thicker, perhaps? Or longer?"

Harry felt his face flush. A part of him wanted to trail his fingertips along the inner part of Malfoy's exposed wrist, wanted to let himself bury his face in the spot where Malfoy's neck met his shoulder, wanted to respond to that backward motion with a pressing forward of his own. This wasn't the first time since they had been out here on their own that he'd felt this sort of tension, and he knew Malfoy was making it worse on purpose. And oh, God, how part of him wanted to give into it, wanted to see how far it might go, where it might take them. He swallowed with some difficulty and shifted away. "Try the spell again, Malfoy. With a more aggressive thrust at the end of the wand movement." He saw Malfoy's mouth twitch in a grin. "Yeah, I know what I said. Just do it. What if this is the one thing you need to know in battle, and you can't do it because you're more interested in cracking my resolve out here, while we're alone and danger seems far away? What if this is the thing you need to use to save someone you love? Unless you don't have anyone who means something to you." It was a dirty tactic, he knew that, but he needed to get his point across.

Malfoy's posture suddenly changed, the grin gone in an instant. " _Reducto_!" he said roughly, putting some real force behind the wand movement. This time, there was a bright blue column of light from his wand, and the top half of the stone pillar exploded, sending shards of rock in all directions. Harry brought a hand up to shield his face, wincing as a small, sharp piece nicked him in the neck. Beside him, Malfoy grunted and rubbed at his forehead, his fingertips coming away with a small smear of blood. He wiped it on his robes. "Fuck you, Potter," he said quietly, turning and stalking back to the cabin.

Harry watched him go, conflicted. He didn't want his only source of company — someone who had helped him, no less — angry with him. But no matter how much he might want Malfoy in a purely physical sense, and Malfoy might want him in one way or another, they couldn't lose sight of the fact that they were preparing for war. They couldn't afford to be distracted.

It was so much easier to tell himself that during the day, when the world was light and they were busy.

Malfoy had been quiet for the rest of the afternoon, not so much as looking Harry's way when he'd come back into the cottage. Dinner was a nearly silent affair, despite Harry's attempts at conversation. After a bit more poking around the morning after they'd arrived, Malfoy had found fresh-looking food in the pantry, an apparent god-send. Harry had been trying to test it every way he knew how for poisons and hexes, having had his fill of that lately, when he'd uncovered something with a powerful stench in a little box and Malfoy had laughed and told him the food was safe. The Malfoys had a house-elf that made Kreacher look young, whom Malfoy had caught putting fresh food into a hidden cupboard one evening, nearly ten years ago. He'd relayed the story to Harry, mimicking the grave expression the creature had used when telling him that his sole duty, of the utmost importance, was to leave the very best treats in that cupboard, and clear them away at the end of the night, so as not to alert 'the Missus Glenella'. 

Harry had only looked at him, confused. "I don't follow."

Malfoy had snorted. "Glennella Malfoy was my great-great-great-aunt. She'd been dead for forty years by the time I discovered this pantry's other half, hidden within the house-elf quarters in the Manor. It seems that at some point, decades even before my father was born, from what I could gather, my great-great-great-uncle Sobilian had charged the house-elf with sneaking him his favourite foods, via this one-way cupboard, while they stayed here, with strict orders not to alert any of the Malfoys running the house, but especially his wife. No one ever gave the order for the elf to stop."

"... But won't he say something to someone, once he notices the food's not sitting there, untouched, in the morning?"

"I doubt it. I used to nick the sweets when I was a child, and sometimes the whiskey or wine, when I was older. It seemed to make the old thing happy to find them gone, but it never once said a word to my mother or father, or even my grandfather. That stench, by the way, is a thousand-year-old egg. Sobilian's favourite. Hell, for all I know, it's the same damn egg it's been putting in there for decades."

The egg had been one of the first targets in Malfoy's hexing practice that morning, as he demonstrated a curse Harry'd never seen before — a liquification jinx. The smell had been atrocious, but it did get the point of the spell across very well, and its disintegration had meant the pantry hadn't smelled when they'd stopped for lunch. When Harry had moved things around, picking through items for their supper and wondering at the renewed stench, he'd found that, in the place where one egg had sat before, now there were five. Instead of the amused reaction Harry had hoped for, in sharing that information, Malfoy had only muttered something about needing to cast another round of air-freshening charms and gone back to picking at his plate of chicken.

Harry spent most of his meal wondering if he should bother apologising. The very thought of saying he was sorry to Malfoy would have made him question his sanity not long ago. But things were different now, had been even before they'd ended up trapped in that monastery wine cellar. If they hadn't been, actually, they'd never had ended up there in the first place. Now that they'd escaped and were waiting to return to London, Malfoy miraculously following Harry's orders instead of Apparating himself away the moment Harry'd fallen asleep that first night, it was obvious things were continuing to evolve.

After two more failed attempts at conversation — or really, even interaction  —  Harry gave up trying. Malfoy was steadfastly ignoring him, either looking or moving away whenever Harry turned towards him, or just refusing to acknowledge anything he said. By the time it was dark, Malfoy had resorted to picking up some ancient-looking book from a shelf and pretending to read it. After nearly two hours of that, he closed the book very deliberately, set it down on the coffee table, and strode over to the mattress. They still hadn't managed to conjure a bed frame after all this time.

Harry watched as Malfoy kicked off his shoes and stripped out of his robes. Most nights, he made a point of doing this slowly, teasingly, raising his eyebrows in an inviting gesture and smirking whenever Harry turned away or had to clear his throat. Tonight, however, he just tossed his robes over the arm of a nearby wooden chair and slid underneath the covers, wearing only his underpants. After a moment spent facing away from where Harry sat on the sofa, Malfoy reached for his wand and murmured something, dousing all of the lights, save for the lamp flickering in the middle of the room.

Snorting, Harry got up from the sofa. "Guess I'll just go to sleep, then, too," he muttered. He put out the lamp and picked his way over to his side of the mattress by moonlight. He caught his foot on something near the bed — one of Malfoy's shoes, probably — and nearly fell, but even that got no reaction.

If Malfoy was this angry, Harry would be surprised to still see him here, come morning. 

He had no idea how long he spent trying to get comfortable once he'd shucked off his own clothes, but it felt like hours. Any time he managed to get remotely comfortable, his mind refused to shut the fuck up. It kept reminding him that, somehow, he and Malfoy had managed to remain civil to each other for more than a week of constantly being in the other's presence, and the only thing that had managed to ruin that was Harry's barb about not having anyone he cared for, as if he were some heartless monster with no personal emotional attachments. When that voice quietened, the low one telling him that there were people out there who were risking their lives — and had perhaps already _lost_ those lives — for him would speak up. The more he tried to silence them, the louder they became, and the more he felt like crawling out of his skin. He needed distraction. He needed a word of comfort now and then. He needed evidence that he wasn't ruining people's lives. He needed to — 

"Stop flailing about and go to _sleep_ ," Malfoy's pillow-muffled voice chimed in.

The first words Malfoy'd bothered to say to him all evening, and that was what he chose, as if doing such a thing was so simple. "Fuck you, Malfoy."

"Is that a promise or a request?" Malfoy said, not missing a beat, instantly flipping over to face Harry. "Because that could very easily be arranged." The mattress shifted underneath Harry as Malfoy moved underneath the blankets, rising up onto his hands and knees. "Come on," he whispered, movements quiet and dangerous and darkly seductive, a hint of what had been in there this afternoon back in his voice. "You know you want to — you _need_ to."

"I don't need any such thing." Even he heard the lie in his voice and, though the room was dark, only a single shaft of moonlight spilling through the front window, he could sense Malfoy's smile, the same one that had made Harry think of an Incubus back in the monastery's wine cellar. 

"Oh, but you do, I can tell. You need an outlet, a way to release this frustration and pent-up energy. I told you, Potter: I mean to make sure you get everything you _need_ from now on, remember?" He crawled over to Harry and leaned down over him, the moonlight lighting just the edges of his hair, every other detail too difficult to easily distinguish. Harry could feel the heat from Malfoy's body, could smell his skin and hair and sweat and something that was uniquely him, something Harry couldn't name, but would be able to identify anywhere after all these nights sleeping so close. He shivered in the dark as Malfoy dipped his head to whisper quietly, his breath hot on Harry's cheek as he spoke. "Tell me again you don't need this."

He couldn't, oh fuck, he couldn't do that, and Malfoy knew it as well as he did. With a low moan, Harry raised himself up enough to press his mouth to Malfoy's, sliding his tongue between Malfoy's parted lips and shuddering as Malfoy kissed him back, one hand trailing lightly down his chest, palm dragging along the bare skin of his stomach, not stopping until it cupped his hardening cock through his pants. Harry arched into the touch and felt Malfoy smile even as he continued to kiss him.

"That's what I thought," Malfoy murmured against his neck after he'd broken the kiss, mouthing hot, damp kisses over Harry's shoulder and collarbone. He alternately nipped lightly at places across Harry's skin and sucked gently, finding new ways to make Harry's breath stutter, all the while keeping up a slow, steady rhythm of stroking Harry's cock.

This was like cool water after walking out in the desert, something soothing to slake his thirst, to smooth the rough edges, refreshing, vitalising. Harry knew that, if he let it, this could rush over him, enveloping him in sensation, and simply carry him away on the current. He wanted to give in to that so badly. He wanted to let that comfort wash over him. It would be so easy, to let it happen; all he would need to do was open his arms and invite it in, the physical comfort, even if there was nothing else behind it. He wanted to be selfish in this, wanted to take something for himself and revel in it where no one could take it from him.

But he couldn't.

"I can't do this," he groaned, body betraying his words when he reached one hand up behind Malfoy's neck and pulled him down for a long, scorching kiss.

"Seems to me you're doing just fine," Malfoy whispered when Harry finally released him. There were so many unsaid promises in the tone of his voice that Harry shivered. 

"No, I mean, I can't.... I can't _let_ myself do this." With effort, he stopped his hand from holding Malfoy close, then reached down and stilled the hand still stroking him as if they had all the time in the world to give in to this. "I need to keep my focus, and this isn't the way to do it. I have more at stake than just my own life, Malfoy. There's yours, and the lives of practically everyone else I've ever known. I can't lose sight of that."

"Are you fucking serious?" Malfoy growled. It shouldn't have been so hot when he did that, but Harry was primed to respond to a lot right now, and he was well aware that, all things considered, he would be almost content to take the distraction of physical pleasure in lieu of any real comfort that might come with something deeper.

"Yes. I just... This is important, Malfoy. Okay? I can't give in to this right now."

"You can't give in _right now_ ," Malfoy repeated, slowly backing up so that he was sitting between Harry's knees. "I may have just been cock-blocked by your damned Gryffindor sense of nobility and self-sacrifice, but don't think I missed that loophole." He grunted and moved back to his side of the mattress, settling back underneath the blankets. "Fine. Have it your way tonight, Potter. Just don't expect me to forget what I've heard in your head."

Harry groaned and rolled over, adjusting himself as he tried to will his erection away so that he could sleep. Of all people to be stuck alone in close quarters with, it had to be Draco Malfoy. The bastard was going to be the death of him, in one way or another.

— O —

If Potter's aim was to frustrate the utter hell out of Draco while they were stuck in some Gryffindor-imposed exile, he'd certainly chosen a series of effective tactics.

First and foremost (and the best example of sheer bloody-mindedness Draco had encountered in a while) was the fact that Potter seemed intent on denying either of them any sort of physical release and pleasure. Draco knew this wasn't about admitting attraction to another bloke for Potter. It was about admitting attraction to _him_ , specifically. At least, it had been at first, back in that wine cellar, until Draco had made him confront it head on, and got an unexpectedly good snogging session out of the deal. Now, he claimed it had something to do with keeping his focus on the war. Awareness of the ongoing war and the chance that Potter was going to go all noble and heroic — probably dragging Draco with him in some harebrained scheme or another, and getting at least _one_ of them killed — actually seemed like the world's _best_ reason to give in to one's desires and have a nice, vigorous shag. Hell, Draco'd even take a long, slow, gentle one, if Potter wanted to play at romance to make himself feel better. But no argument he made and no amount of teasing had yet to break Potter's resolve. 

And he'd been so damn close the other night, when Potter had snapped at him over nothing and Draco had decided that enough was enough, and he was going to help Potter find an outlet for all that restless energy. Instead, he'd ended up with a case of blue balls and dreams of Potter making that desperate, needy face as he did all the touching he hadn't allowed himself to do in reality. He'd been so close to cracking, and Merlin knew they both could have used it.

Besides Potter's maddening decision to pretend that potential saviours need remain sexless and chaste, he was upping the frustration factor in other ways. From the first full day they'd spent in seclusion, he'd insisted on teaching Draco defensive spells, finally giving in and teaching a few offensive ones, too. He made them look so easy, as if they took no more focus or energy than absentmindedly scratching at an itch on one's nose. Draco had quickly found that that wasn't necessarily the case, though he had, at least, managed to show Potter that he knew a fair number of _offensive_ spells. Being the son of a Death Eater and living in the Manor that housed a certain so-called Dark Lord had its advantages in that way. Still, Potter's training took more out of him than he'd expected, and he'd only really got back at Potter for that this afternoon.

Draco had finally had enough with _Protego_ and _Expelliamus_ and _Expecto Patronum_ — the latter being a special weak point of his, much to their mutual irritation — and blasted a smoking hole in a nearby bush. "That's it. I'm tired of playing student to your teacher, Potter. We're changing roles. This time, I'm going to teach _you_."

Potter'd blinked at him, and then gave him that look that was worse than a flat-out smirk — the one that was part amusement, part indulgence, and part utter disbelief at what he was hearing. "Yeah? What exactly do you think I'll need to know that you can do better?"

If this hadn't been training for what was increasingly feeling like the inevitable final stand — or at least _his_ final stand, Draco was starting to believe — he might have hexed Potter without warning, testing just how good he was at deflecting and protecting himself when he didn't see it coming. Instead, he just took a deep breath and stared Potter down. "Apparition."

The one word had wiped the sarcastic look from Potter's face. "Apparition?"

"You heard me. I can do it, as I've demonstrated twice already, and you obviously can't."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that. You weren't old enough to get your licence, either. How is it _you_ can Apparate? That's not just a natural skill." He chewed on his lower lip. "At least, not the controlled version."

"No, it's not. My mother gave me lessons during the Easter holidays last year. She said — and she was correct in this — that it might save my life, should I ever need to make an immediate escape."

"That's another thing — if you could Apparate, why didn't you just leave me there at the monastery? Or just get us both out?"

"Really? I know you're not exactly Ravenclaw material, Potter, but you can't be _that_ dense. Do you honestly think I hadn't tried that? It was a _trap_ , you pillock. We might not have been old enough to legally Apparate, but do you think a group of Death Eaters didn't consider we might not be playing by legal rules? I couldn't Apparate until we got far enough off the property. Why else do you think I told you to head towards the wood?" He'd sighed and run a hand through his hair. "Now. Unless you'd just had a moment of panic and have since neglected to mention it, I'm assuming you've never Apparated on your own?"

Potter had paused. "Never intentionally."

"Pardon?"

"I think I did it once, when I was small. I ended up on the roof of the school and couldn't explain how, when I'd just been running across the grounds. Really angered some teachers. But it was just that once."

"... This is sort of a skill you're going to need, Potter. What the hell have people been thinking, not teaching you how? Did the Order not think it might be a good idea to teach the fucking _saviour_ how to Apparate himself out of dangerous situations?"

Shrugging, Potter had stood from his seat on a large rock. "So teach me. I'm willing to learn."

"No, you _need_ to learn. And before we start, I'm making one thing clear: if you manage to splinch yourself, that's no fault of mine. Try not to separate yourself from something vital, please. My capabilities with Healing spells are only so good, and I don't know that I'd be able to reattach a leg or a hand or your cock or your damned _head_ , all right?"

"Of _course_ you'd consider my cock in a list of important appendages."

"Do _you_ want to find yourself without it?" He'd got only a glare in return. "I thought not. Now shut up and get your arse over here, Potter. We've got a lot of work to do."

They'd spent nearly three solid hours at it, until Potter had managed to not only move from the spot where he was standing, but land within inches of the spot Draco had marked in front of a distant tree. The first few attempts, Potter'd concentrated so hard, determined to give it all the focus he possessed, that he'd simply looked constipated. But he'd proven to be a quick learner, and the only thing he'd left behind during his first successful attempt was his ugly pair of spectacles.

"How was that?" he'd asked, looking a bit red in the face.

"Not bad," Draco had allowed, neglecting to mention that it had taken him far longer to get from one room in the Manor to the correct one he'd been instructed to appear in than it had taken Potter. "We can stop there for now."

"No," Potter had grunted, shaking his head. "Not yet."

By the time Potter was satisfied and they'd dragged themselves into the cottage for food and a wash, it was dark. They'd disrobed and climbed into bed not long after, and Draco had been so drained he hadn't even bothered with a striptease or strategic angling. Potter had flopped gracelessly onto his side of the mattress and was snoring before they'd heard the first hoot of an owl. Draco'd drifted off, thinking that, at least tonight, they'd both sleep well.

Now, however, Potter was proving him wrong. 

The lack of quality sleep was the third and final thing getting under Draco's skin. It wasn't that the mattress wasn't comfortable; Merlin knew they'd both taken turns casting spells at it until it was the most comfortable they were going to get, aside from being somewhere with a proper bed. He'd just never been an especially deep sleeper, under any circumstances — something of a blessing, really, when one was always waiting for You-Know-Who to show up and demand something from his followers. If one should happen to sleep through their lord's arrival... Well, it wasn't pretty. So when Potter's snores (which were at least steady enough to become monotonous and unobtrusive) halted for a few moments before morphing into muttering and grunting and groaning and other restless, agitated noises accompanied by tossing and turning, Draco generally just sighed, got up to use the loo, and waited for Potter to shut up again, so he could give sleep another go.

He certainly was taking a hell of a long time to settle down again tonight, though. 

_ I wonder _ , he thought as Potter murmured something that might have been his half of a conversation, brow furrowed, _what it is the Boy Who Lived dreams about_. He settled onto his side and watched Potter twitch and make different facial expressions. Well, he wasn't getting any sleep, that was for certain. Draco wondered if it were possible to peek into his dreams, just to get a sense of what was going on in there. What if Potter were dreaming of _him_ , anyway? He'd never admit it.

Draco held his breath. _Just a quick peek, to see if it's about me_ , he told himself. He'd never tried this, and Severus had never mentioned it. It didn't mean it wasn't possible. Well, here went nothing.

The shift was disorienting. This wasn't like the Legilimency he normally did, where he simply picked out words that were unsaid. He'd entered people's minds before — mostly Severus's, which was generally well-guarded, but also those of his mother, or his housemates, or, for one horrific split second, his aunt — and got the full deal, with mental images and pictures and sensations. But this was different. 

Dreams often made sense when you were having them, the disjointed bits fitting together somehow beneath fuzzy junctures. That did not appear to be the case when the unconscious you were viewing was not your own, and you had no access to the internal logic therein. Draco watched as a very young Potter was roughed up by some fat, blond child who laughed and called him names as he ripped Potter's Muggle clothes. Then the world dissolved underneath them and some shrill, pinched-looking woman shoved Potter, now even smaller, into a cupboard and locked him inside, the sound of her footfalls getting fainter until Potter threw himself onto the bed and buried his face into the pillow. In almost the same instant, they were transported to Malfoy Manor. Draco would have fallen over, if he'd had a body to do so with. Potter had never been to the Manor.

So how did he know not only what the corridors looked like, from the marble of the floor, to the oak banister on the grand staircase, to the painting of his parents done on their wedding day, but also the path that led him directly from the foyer, up the stairs, and towards Draco's bedroom?

Dying of curiosity, Draco waited to see what Potter was doing standing outside his room. Before anything happened, however, the world dissolved once more, and they were back in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Potter, who appeared to be in his twenties, was bouncing a child who looked like him — only without the glasses and the scar — on his knee, laughing with a version of Sirius Black who looked nearly the same age as Potter, both completely carefree. 

Draco watched as the door to the room opened, as though nudged by some invisible being. A moment later, a large snake Draco immediately recognised as Nagini slithered into the room, heading straight for the sofa where the other three sat. He wasn't a player in this dream, and could do nothing to affect whatever was happening. So he simply watched, horrified, as the snake reared up and struck Black in the chest, crumpling him to the ground. Potter shouted something, up quick as lightning with the child clutched in his arms, and Draco couldn't seem to follow what happened next. All he knew was that, in the time it would have taken him to blink, the child had been suffocated by Nagini, Black was slumped on the floor, bleeding and face blue, and Potter was on his knees, screaming wordlessly.

Finally jolting himself out of Potter's unconscious, Draco shuddered, feeling shaken. What the _fuck_ had that been? Who the hell had dreams like that and still remained sane? He actually felt physically ill. At least that vision of horror was over.

Only it wasn't, for Potter. 

He was stomach-down on his side of the mattress, face buried in his pillow, but, even through that, Draco could hear him. Fuck that. No one deserved to be stuck in that sort of dream, no matter how many little frustrations they were doling out. He lit the nearest lamp, chasing the darkness away from the immediate vicinity. "Potter," he murmured, giving the other boy's shoulder a shake. Potter kicked out reflexively, catching Draco in the shin, and Draco grunted. Even now that he was on his side, Potter still hadn't woken. "Potter, wake up." All he got this time was a moan that made Draco feel sicker. He had a fleeting thought, wondering what he would do if Potter never snapped out of it, or if he woke only to be stuck in a state of insanity. "Potter, hey. _Harry_. Wake the fuck up. It's just a dream." He gave Potter's shoulder a rougher shake and jumped when the boy gasped and shot halfway into a sitting position, eyes wide and staring straight at Draco. 

"Malfoy?" Potter's voice was hoarse like he'd really been screaming. He was breathing shallowly, nearly hyperventilating, and his cheeks were wet. In another life, another reality, Draco would have taunted him for that. But he couldn't do that now, and he _especially_ couldn't do that after having seen what Potter had just seen. 

"Yeah. Hey. It's fine. You're fine," he murmured, careful not to give any hint that he'd just been poking in Potter's unconscious thoughts. "Nightmare, that's all. You were muttering and thrashing, so I woke you."

Potter took a deep, shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut. Draco couldn't help but think of the smaller version of the same boy, the one who'd thrown himself onto the bed in that tiny cupboard and buried his face in the pillow, and then Potter opened his eyes and looked up into Draco's, face naked and open and vulnerable, looking for something to assure him that things really were all right.

It occurred to Draco that if ever Potter were to be in a frame of mind to give in and seek comfort in sex or snogging or anything at all that could make him feel good, this was that time. Oddly enough, the thought of taking advantage of this fact didn't appeal in the slightest. He wanted Potter to crack, yes, but he wanted it on different terms, with the other boy fully aware and fully himself, giving in and wanting it — wanting _Draco_ — because he couldn't deny it any longer. _Not_ because he was desperate for some sort of comfort. Generally stoic Malfoy upbringing aside, that had been the sort of dream that would have made Draco wake, wishing he were still young enough for his mother to hold him and whisper soothing words as she stroked his hair, lulling him to sleep with the sound of her voice and warm, reassuring touch.

But Potter had no mother, probably hadn't had any such experience in his life, from what Draco could tell, and besides, the only other person here was Draco himself. Part of him wanted to reach out again, this time letting his hand linger over Potter's and give it a squeeze, but that was madness. He could never do that, and Potter probably wouldn't even be comfortable with the gesture. 

"You should go back to sleep," Draco said after a moment, aware Potter was still looking at him that way.

"I don't want to," Potter said quickly, shaking his head. "Not just yet." He winced and rubbed at the scar on his forehead. "I can't just go back to sleep after something like that."

Draco couldn't exactly blame him. Still, he couldn't sit here in the dark with Potter looking so vulnerable. "Fine." He slid out from under the covers and stood, shivering as the cool air hit his skin. "I'll make us some tea." And quickly, before he could say anything that might open doors best left closed, he scurried into the kitchen, not missing the way Potter shuddered and drew the blankets tightly around himself, looking not at all like the saviour of anything or anyone.

— O —

"That," Harry said, looking down at the shredded mess at his feet in distaste, "is a _gruesome_ spell."

Malfoy shrugged. "Perhaps. But it's not Unforgivable."

"Maybe it should be."

"Look, Potter. I understand that you've always done this whole 'let's not kill anyone' method of fighting. You're supposed to be on the side of good and morality, and thus you've always stuck to disarming and halting those hell-bent on killing you," Malfoy said with a sigh. "And when you _don't_ , virtually every other move you know is about flash and noise and brute force. What good is it to attempt an attack, if you're simply going to do it in an obvious way that might as well give advance written notice to your target? For the love of Merlin, you've got to go into battle with at least a _few_ subtle spells, if not some non-verbal or wandless ones."

Harry glanced down at the ground again. "Logically, that makes sense...'

With a sigh, Malfoy threw his hands up in the air. "Fine. Stick to what you know. But don't expect that any one of the Death Eaters will hesitate to use something even worse than what I just showed you, just for the sheer amusement of it."

Harry shook his head and rubbed at his scar. Though it hadn't bothered him as much in the last year as it had before that, it seemed to be flaring up at odd intervals. He never seemed to get a flash of what was going on with Voldemort — not even on the night he and Malfoy had escaped, in fact — but he always felt a bit off when it did act up. Sometimes he'd wake up with it throbbing, unable to remember what he'd been dreaming about, only positive that, whatever it was, it was bad. "Can't we just be done for the day?"

"What's with you, Potter? You've been especially twitchy the last few days. I don't know what else you want to do. I've been perfectly patient in learning the spells you want to teach me, no matter how ridiculous they —"

Harry snorted. "You're only upset because you thought your Patronus would be something more intimidating, and not... fluffy. Or _ginger_."

"My fox is not ginger, damn it! There are plenty of white foxes in the Arctic, and black and brown ones. Besides, a Patronus is always silver."

"You didn't say anything about it being fluffy."

"Sometimes, Potter, I hate you. As I was saying, before you interrupted: I've learned what you wanted. And you've learned to Apparate with no problem. I'm not certain what we're still doing."

"That's sort of what I've been thinking about," Harry said after a moment. "I think it might be safe to return to the Order in a few more days. It's been over three weeks. I've already told you what I know about the Horcruxes, but there has to be new information since I last heard anything." He also simply _missed_ everyone back home. Other than when he'd been stuck at the Dursleys', he'd never gone so long without seeing Ron and Hermione, especially once they'd actively decided to help him take down Voldemort. Likewise, the rest of the Weasleys and Lupin and Tonks and even those he was just getting to know, like Kingsley, had been on his mind. "We'll practise the rest of the week. The Order should have an official meeting on Sunday evening, if things are still on schedule. Plan on being there. We can get filled in then. For now, we'll call it a night. I'm fucking shattered."

Malfoy nodded and Vanished the still-smoking remains of his last demonstration from the ground. "Agreed."

Dinner was quiet, and Harry didn't get halfway through his food before he was nodding off, head bobbing as Malfoy told him what he'd observed about Horcruxes, and the way the some of the Death Eaters felt about them. In all honesty, he faded in and out and might have lost a few of the details. By the time he climbed into bed that night, a seventy-year-old book on Quidditch history open on his lap to one of the pages that diagrammed elementary broom designs, Malfoy was already asleep, having collapsed into bed immediately after bathing. He lay on his back, mouth slightly slack, and Harry chuckled. He knew Malfoy liked to try to get him riled, playing up his looks, or trying for a seductive way of speaking. This, however, was not that image or tactic. Actually, it was moments like this when he thought he might like Malfoy best — and not just because he couldn't argue while snoring. Like this, he was just like anyone else. The haughty sneer was gone, and he simply looked... good.

Harry snorted and climbed into bed. It wasn't some great secret that Harry found Malfoy attractive. All chances of keeping that to himself had faded the moment Malfoy'd caught him staring in that ancient wine cellar, confirmed when he'd kissed back so eagerly. 

There were worse things that could have happened. Like Malfoy remaining despondent and so willing to lie down and die that night. If he'd done that, Harry'd likely be dead as well, the world left to endure the terror of Voldemort's rein.

...Wasn't _that_ a cheerful thought?

He drifted off to sleep thinking how good it would be to walk through the doors of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place to see the faces of the people he loved most, to hear their voices, or even embrace them, glad they were safe.

Not an hour later, he found himself peering into a dim, dank room that smelled of mildew and something rotting that turned his stomach. Someone was humming tunelessly somewhere in the distance, the only sound in the room except for the very slow drip of water. After a few moments, the silence was broken by the sound of someone shrieking: a girl's voice, high and terrified and in pain. Immediately following that shriek, Harry could hear someone else bellowing in anger, and his stomach fell to somewhere around his knees.

Hermione. Ron.

Jeering and mocking echoed off the walls of the corridor just outside the room, growing louder every time either of his friends cried out. Harry watched as a group of hooded Death Eaters physically dragged his two best friends into the room, Wormtail appearing out of nowhere to unlock the cell door, then turn the key after someone who sounded like Dolohov yanked Hermione's head back by her hair and said something in her ear. On her other side, Fenrir Greyback moved in close and sniffed at her neck, growling low in his throat as he ran one jagged, dirty fingernail up her exposed throat. Hermione whimpered and shuddered, and Harry couldn't seem to make a sound. In fact, when Ron struggled harder to get to her, shouting that they'd better leave her alone or they'd be sorry, Harry found he was wrong; he could laugh. Reaching out the hand holding his wand, he stood taller, gathering his robes about him. When he saw Wormtail and Bellatrix bow down before him, his stomach lurched.

_ Oh, please, God, no. _

" _Crucio_!" he heard himself shout and, held up by Dolohov and Greyback, Hermione jerked in their grasp, a scream rushing out of her as she shook. All around him, others joined in the laughter, the sound of it growing louder as Ron shouted Hermione's name and made another lunge in her direction. Ron's face was wan, and he looked torn between being sick, sobbing, and doing anything he could manage to make Harry — or the monster who owned the mind Harry was currently sharing — pay. He finally released the curse on Hermione, who was gasping and choking, and turned his attention to Ron. Again, the wand came up, and Harry tried desperately to shut his eyes, knowing well enough what was coming.

Somehow, he did get his eyes to shut. He must have, because the next thing he knew, everything went totally black for a split second, and then his field of vision was filled with bright, shimmery lights dancing back and forth. A bolt of pain shot through his head and he rolled over, retching, not knowing or caring if it was in response to the pain, or everything he'd just seen. 

There were hands on his shoulders, gripping so tightly it hurt, but the sensation actually served to ground him ever so slightly. It was enough that he could sit up and try to catch his breath, taking it in in big, heaving gasps until the world came into focus as much as it ever did when he wasn't wearing his glasses. It took him a moment to register the hands digging into his arms as Malfoy's, and another moment still to realise that Malfoy was speaking to him.

"Seriously, Potter, say something. Let me know you're all right. Anything, come on, I don't even care — "

"He's got them, they're as good as dead, they'll wish they were by the end and oh, God, he made me do it with him — " He was babbling, the panic in his brain overrunning everything else, and he was afraid for a moment that he just wouldn't — he couldn't — he just — 

"Harry James Potter!" Malfoy snapped, digging his fingers even deeper into Harry's shoulder. "For fuck's sake, _breathe_!"

Harry stopped talking, finally, _finally_ looking up into Malfoy's flushed face. It still felt like tingling little panicky insects were crawling through his blood, like the jitters one got from too much caffeine, only a dozen times worse, but at least now he could look at Malfoy and realise that, no matter what else might be happening, at this moment he was alone in this cottage with him, no one else able to get to them, and he had been here this whole time, which meant he had not been forced to physically harm his two best friends.

But, oh, knowing that didn't make it _feel_ any less true.

"Now," Malfoy said, obviously making an effort to keep his voice calm even though the look on his face belied a sense of apprehension. Just that tone of voice did wonders to quiet the panicky, restless feeling coursing through Harry. "Take a deep breath and tell me what the hell you're on about."

He needed several deep breaths, actually, and when it came out it happened all in a rush. It wasn't just this dream; it was a whole host of them. There had been others since they'd escaped the monastery, including the one other time Malfoy had forcibly woken him from a different nightmare. But there were also the ones from fifth year, when he'd seen Arthur Weasley attacked and been the only real reason anyone had found him in time, and his dream of a similar attack on Sirius. This had felt just like those, from the different point of view to the vivid sensations he could still recall — touch and smell and sounds.

Malfoy listened without a word, only speaking once Harry had put his face in his hands and left it there. This felt like arguing with everyone again after his dreams in fifth year, when they'd all just told him it was just his subconscious fears manifesting in nightmares, when he knew better. "This is like those others?" he asked, handing Harry his glasses and looking directly at him, almost as if he were trying to read him, either through Legilimency or some other tactic.

"Yes. There are nightmares, Malfoy — and I've had enough of those lately — and then there are these. They're different, trust me." He tried to hold his gaze as steady as Malfoy's was. "I'm not mad, and I'm not making anything up just for the hell of it."

"I know you're not making it up," Malfoy murmured, then shook himself visibly. Harry wondered just how much of his lack of questioning the details was due to the possibility Malfoy had simply popped into his head to see for himself when Harry simply couldn't be coherent. He could sometimes feel when someone tried Legilimency on him but, in his state right now, and especially given that he'd just been in Voldemort's head, Harry probably wouldn't have noticed if Malfoy'd tried the Vulcan mind-meld, complete with touching his fingertips to Harry's temples.

"But you think I'm insane."

Malfoy paused, considering, but then shook his head, just the barest hint of smile visible at the corners of his mouth for half a second. "No. In fact, at this moment, I consider you less mad than I have in the past." He opened his mouth to continue, then shut it, furrowing his brow. "I suppose the one thing that gives me pause is the fact that you've had two such dreams before this and, while one was an accurate glimpse into You-Know-Who's mind, the second was a deliberate misdirection, as he'd figured out that little connection of yours by then, and was manipulating you, because he knew you could be counted upon to rush to the aid of someone you care for."

Harry laughed bitterly. "You think I haven't considered what happened with Sirius since waking? I'm impulsive, Malfoy, not completely stupid. I can Apparate on my own now. If I were stupid, I'd have already gone. But I think there's a chance that a good number of details in _most_ of my recent dreams have been accurate enough, let alone one this vivid."

Shifting uncomfortably, Malfoy finally dropped his gaze. "I believe you." If ever something screamed guilt, that did, but this wasn't the time to delve into the issue. "Fine. You're convinced your friends need help, but you've retained enough sense to keep yourself from rushing into a stronghold of Death Eaters to come to their rescue." He stood up, stooped at the foot of the bed, and tossed a pile of material onto Harry's lap. "Get dressed, Potter. Fuck the unreasonable hour; we're headed to Grimmauld Place."

Harry just blinked at him. "Just like that? You wake me from a nightmare, I babble incoherently for a while, tell you a load of impossible things, and you decide we should take action?"

Malfoy snorted and shrugged into his own robes. "Maybe it happens that I wasn't just taunting when I said I was going to help you get what you needed. Right now, that includes answers we can't get here, doesn't it?" He stepped into his shoes and began to spell the makeshift bed away as Harry struggled to get into his own clothes. "Besides," he said with a snort, "I can't very well get you to shag me if you're dead."

Harry opened his mouth to say that he wasn't about to shag Malfoy in any case, then thought better of it. There was something there, that much had been obvious for weeks. And if they managed to live through this whole ordeal... Well... Who knew what sort of needs Malfoy might be able to help him with, after all?

— O —

PART TWO

Draco felt no small amount of relief in the moment that Potter appeared beside him across the street from Number Twelve. He'd not been sure if Potter had been mentally focussed enough in the aftermath of his potentially prophetic nightmare to Apparate, let alone to successfully attempt his first long-distance Apparition, but he'd insisted he didn't need Draco to drag him here with the Side-Along method. So when he landed, unsplinched and looking just as he had mere seconds before, Draco let out a held breath. Thank Merlin for small favours.

"Looks like things might have calmed down after all," Draco murmured. There was no one, be they Muggle or Wizard, on the street. When Number Twelve appeared in the space between Numbers Eleven and Thirteen, all the lights appeared to be off — not exactly unexpected for just before three in the morning.

"Maybe," Potter agreed. "Still, keep your eyes open until we're safe inside."

They approached the house slowly. Potter was actively on the lookout for Death Eaters, but Draco just didn't feel that arriving would be quite the homecoming Potter was certain they'd receive. There was no one here that would be thrilled to see him the way they would be about Potter. Even if Severus was inside, the most he might get would be a tight smile, or a quickly-masked expression of relief. And that was if he didn't get hauled off to another room to get an earful of lecture regarding letting Potter drag him into some ill-thought-out adventure, as he had the night they'd wound up in that wine cellar. Although, now that so much time had passed, Draco wasn't entirely positive which one of them had been the most insistent on going at that point. He remembered arguing with Potter that his information had been quite clear that the evening in question was when the gathering would be taking place. And he _had_ been correct; he just hadn't known the actual intent was to carry out a ritual _because_ Potter would end up captured, in their grasp, by the end of the evening. 

Potter lifted his fist to knock on the heavy door — odd, since this was legally his residence, Draco thought — and paused, shifting uncomfortably. "Hey," he whispered, looking somewhere in the direction of Draco's torso, apparently unable to meet his eyes. "I just.... I needed.... Um."

"Spit it out, Potter."

"Thank you."

"For what, exactly?"

"For not telling me I was being stupid, or insisting I was just insane or having a stress-related nightmare. For listening, and... and I guess, for demanding we come back here."

Draco snorted, a small smile finding a home on his face. "I did tell you I'd —"

"— help me get what I needed, yeah, I know," Potter finished, the corner of his own mouth turning up just a little. He straightened up and squared his shoulders, looking much more like the Harry Potter, Saviour-In-Training that Draco was used to seeing than the vulnerable-looking boy he'd been not more than an hour ago.

"Hey, Potter?" he said as the other boy lifted his hand once again to knock.

"Yeah?"

"You're welcome."

Potter turned his head to look at him, looking pleased and surprised at once. "Good thing we've had this little moment in private, or I'd spend the next several hours having people test me for Polyjuice." He raised his hand a third time, this time making contact with the door, the sound quite loud in the pre-dawn stillness. "Now. Let's get some fucking answers."

— O —

Harry wasn't sure who he expected to answer the door at this hour of the night, but he did know he didn't expect to find a wand levelled at his chest and a question barked at him before he even got a look at them.

"Which creature was in a jar in my office the first time you came to visit me there?"

Harry sighed. He couldn't see the person behind the door, but the question made them identifiable enough. "A Grindylow?"

"Is that a question or an answer?"

"An answer, Lupin." Harry glanced up at the moon, wondering if it was approaching full, which might explain the snippiness. "Come on, it's me."

Lupin ignored him and levelled his wand at Malfoy. "What was it you muttered at me the last time I reprimanded you as your instructor at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, seriously?" Malfor groaned quietly from his place behind Harry. "I don't remember. 'Shabby mongrel, best kept in a pound instead of being allowed to teach'?"

There was a pause. "Close enough," he grunted. The door opened and, in a rather abrupt change in attitude, Lupin wrapped his arms around Harry and hugged him tightly, nearly pulling him off his feet as he dragged him inside. "You had us so _worried_ , you can't even —"

"Remus?" Mrs Weasley's voice floated down the hall. "Who is it?" Harry could hear her footsteps approach. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine, Molly," Remus said, finally letting go of Harry so that he could breathe. "It's Harry! And Draco Malfoy," he added, seemingly as an afterthought.

" _Harry_?" The lights inside were still off and, before Harry's eyes adjusted to the darkness void of moonlight and streetlamps, he found himself smothered in Mrs Weasley's arms. "You're all right!" she said, and Harry felt a bit guilty for being the cause of that tearful tone in her voice. "Come in! Where have you been? We've all been worried _sick_ about you. The last anyone had heard, you'd been captured three weeks ago, but no one could find out what happened after that. We worried that... but You-Know-Who wouldn't have not... Why didn't you send word? You know how to conjure a Patronus; why didn't you send it with a message?"

"Send it with _what_?"

Lupin cleared his throat. "Actually, Molly, I don't think anyone's shown him how to do that." 

From somewhere behind Harry, Malfoy snorted. "Oh, there's a surprise," Harry heard him mutter, and Lupin threw him an irritated glare, but otherwise ignored him.

Harry let himself be led to the kitchen, and it seemed like mere seconds before a dozen other people were swarming around him, exclaiming over him and hugging him like he'd miraculously returned from the dead. Everyone was here, it seemed, except the two people he needed to see most. 

"Harry!"

Everyone turned towards the new voice joining the din. Moody slammed his way into the kitchen, and everyone shut up, not wanting to get in his way. "It's good to have you back, Harry. If everyone would, please settle down while he fills us in on where he's been." He took his own seat at the table where Harry stood holding a hot mug of tea someone had pressed into his hands a few moments ago. "Now, tell us everything. How did you escape after so long?"

Harry watched Moody's magical eye spin and whirl in all directions before it settled on him and stared him down, then shook his head. "We escaped weeks ago —" he started to say, but was cut off by a general uproar. He hoped the whole conversation wasn't going to go this way. "Look!" he finally shouted, holding up a hand and nearly spilling his tea all over himself. "I'll explain everything, but first I want some answers. What's the plan for rescuing Ron and Hermione?"

Everyone except for Malfoy gave him a confused look. "What do you mean, 'rescue'?" Tonks finally asked from her spot in the corner.

"I had a dream tonight where I saw them get tossed into some dungeons by Voldemort and a bunch of Death Eaters. I want to know what's been figured out about getting them back."

There was silence for a moment, before Lupin spoke again. "No one's been captured, Harry. Not besides you."

"But I saw —" he started, and then saw the look on Lupin's face, and knew that he was thinking about the false vision regarding Sirius. 

"They checked in with me twenty minutes before you arrived," Lupin said softly. "They're completely fine. They're about to go deeper into hiding, so we might not hear from them for several more days." He shifted closer so that he could whisper into Harry's ear. "Are you certain this is something we should be discussing in front of Draco Malfoy?"

"What?" Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who was leaning against the door frame of the kitchen, looking awkward. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because the last time anyone saw the two of you, he was essentially leading you into a trap?" one of the twins suggested before being shushed by their father. 

"Plus, there's that whole Death Eater thing," the other added, wincing as they were elbowed by their mother.

"He's not a Death Eater!" Harry said loudly, realising that, just a few months ago, he'd argued the very opposite. "Look, I wouldn't be alive right now if he hadn't been there —"

"— wouldn't have got captured, either," both twins interrupted in unison, and it was all Harry could do not to shout.

"— and he's proven he has plenty of right to be here and hear the plan, all right?"

"Definitely got his ferrety little claws in him," George whispered to his brother. "No surprise Malfoy's up to something. Don't suppose anyone's tried to see if Harry here's under the Imperius curse?"

"I am _not_ under the Imperius!" Harry shouted. "Or Polyjuice," he added, looking right at Moody, whose eye had spun around and was now fixed on where Malfoy stood. God damn it, why did no one ever want to listen to him? "I just think he's got a right to hear whatever updates I hear, after what we've been through. Look, this dream wasn't a normal dream, okay? Something's happened to Ron and Hermione —"

"We've already told you, they're fine," Kingsley said in what was meant to be a reassuring voice and, much as Harry generally liked him, the comment grated against him.

"— and besides that, I want to hear what the hell has happened the last three weeks. Voldemort's hardly stopped the war while Malfoy and I hid out, has he?"

"There have been plenty of developments," Moody said, waving his hand. "But perhaps your friends are correct in asking that young Mister Malfoy —"

"I've already told you, it's not —" Harry started, wondering if he was speaking in Parseltongue again, and the problem was that no one understood him.

"Wait," Malfoy's voice cut in, and everyone turned to look at him. "It's fine, Potter. I understand." Harry could see that his hands were balled into fists, but his voice was calm and other than his eyes being a bit darker grey than usual, he looked the same as always — aloof and a bit haughty. "I'll be in my room, unless anyone wants to tell me I don't deserve that bit of privacy and space." When no one said anything, he nodded to himself and walked out of the kitchen, headed for the bedroom that had been his since he'd shown up and convinced the Order he'd defected to their side all those weeks ago.

Harry watched him go, gritting his teeth. _He_ knew Malfoy wasn't responsible for what had happened last month, and he also knew that, without his help, he wouldn't be standing here now. Malfoy had been a fixture at his side for the last few weeks and, despite initial misgivings, Harry could now admit they'd found a level of mutual trust and something that _might_ even reach so far as respect, mad as that sounded.

There might be past reason to distrust him, but Harry knew that was no longer a factor. And if he could ever get the Order to stop treating him like a child and just _listen_ to him, he might get them to see that.

— O —

Draco supposed he should have seen the Order's reaction coming, given their view of recent happenings, but it still got to him. He'd somehow managed to keep his cool, listening to them say those things about him and his character like he wasn't even there. Besides, Potter had been angry enough for both of them, which had actually been the reason Draco hadn't lashed out from the beginning. He'd been more than a little stunned to hear himself defended so adamantly, perhaps even more stunned than the other members of the Order. 

He could still hear Potter's voice in the kitchen from his place upstairs in the room given to him when he and Severus had shown up, mere hours after Albus Dumbledore had met his violent end. Every now and then, he caught a few words or phrases as someone raised their voice, but not enough to follow the conversation. From everything he could gather, it seemed as though Potter wasn't having a hell of a lot of luck in convincing them of something — either that Draco wasn't holding him under Imperius, or that something really had happened to his friends, or that he should be allowed to make decisions regarding their next steps in the war effort. Giving up on eavesdropping, Draco fell back onto his bed and stared up at its light blue canopy.

One bit of information that had proven to lead to a trap into which the wizarding world's best chance at a saviour had fallen and, despite the fact that he was back and in perfectly sound condition, all trust Draco had been able to garner was gone. It didn't matter how much he had sacrificed to get it in the first place, or how much risk he had undertaken to convince everyone that he was trustworthy — it had evaporated.

The only one left who seemed to trust him at all was Potter, and even Draco didn't know how deeply that ran, nor what it was all based upon. How much of that stemmed from Draco's actions that night as they escaped the trap set at the monastery, how much from his actions the weeks after, as he stuck by Potter's side, putting up with his training and then imparting some of his own knowledge where the Order had failed to prepare Potter? How much might be the result of his actions and attempts to calm Potter in the aftermath of nightmares, when there was no one else around?

And how much was confounded by the attraction between them?

Draco dozed off, these questions tumbling around inside his head, nearly an hour later. He had the sickening feeling that all of his work would be turned around now that they were back — and not just the effort put in to getting Potter to crack and admit how badly he wanted Draco in the purest, basest sense. Now that they were back amongst the other members of the Order, Draco was certain they would turn Potter against him once more; they seemed to believe they knew what Potter needed better than anyone else — better than Draco, certainly, and even better than Potter himself — did.

— O —

Five days back in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Five days, and Harry thought that if this kept up, Voldemort wouldn't have to finish him off — he'd simply lose his mind and be no match whatsoever. 

He snapped awake out of a fitful doze to find Malfoy lying beside him, looking at him with his eyebrows raised as his quill hovered over a pad of parchment, several pages of which were now covered in drawings of different small objects. "Dreaming about them again?" Malfoy asked quietly. It was after midnight, and they'd been holed up here in Malfoy's room since just after most of the Order had turned in for the night. Malfoy had spent that time sketching different Dark artifacts and other old wizarding relics that he thought Harry should be on the lookout for — things small enough to be handheld or concealed easily, and which might or might not double as Horcruxes. 

"Yeah," Harry said, rubbing at his scar. He'd not had a dream about Ron and Hermione quite so long or vivid since the night Malfoy had decided they should come back and demand answers from the Order, but he still got fragments of them. Sometimes, it was just seeing the two of them huddled in separate cells, kept from something as simple as holding hands through the bars by a spell that shocked them, or getting a glimpse of someone taunting them before they slid a tray of rotten-looking food into the cells, or toying with Hermione's wand and making threats as to what its proper use should be on a Mudblood like her. "I know I sound like a lunatic," he said defensively, "but I just can't shake the feeling that they're more than regular nightmares, even if no one believes me."

Malfoy sketched another curved line and shaded something in. "I believe you," he said simply. He glanced up a moment later, when his doodle was complete. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

Harry couldn't even put it into words. It wasn't like Malfoy could do anything helpful about what Harry was seeing, but he was the only one who even humoured him by listening and didn't tell him to drop the subject, and that was more than anyone else had done. He even got the feeling that Malfoy actually _did_ believe him, at least on some level, and wasn't just saying it to shut him up. 

It was more than that, too. It wasn't just that _someone_ might believe him, but also that _Malfoy_ did, and fuck, that was a relief. It was sort of like when it had been so important for Ron and Hermione to believe him about Malfoy being up to something, only they _hadn't_ ; they'd thought he was being paranoid.

"I can't — I don't know how to —" he said, frustrated, wishing he could find _some_ sort of way to express his feelings on this. How had he managed to give speeches to the other members of Dumbledore's Army, when he couldn't even get this out to one single person, in private?

Malfoy looked into his eyes, and Harry knew he was using Legilimency to figure out what the hell he was trying to get at. Instead of immediately shutting him out with Occlumency, Harry let him do it, ignoring the wary feeling caused by knowing someone was playing around in his mind, completely shoving away the thought that letting someone have access to his thoughts was dangerous and foolish in any case, let alone when he knew the things he knew. Malfoy deserved to know at least someone in this damned place trusted him on some level. After a moment, his eyes went wide and he sucked in a surprised little breath. Harry wished the Legilimency went both ways; some part of him desperately wanted to know what Malfoy's reaction meant.

It seemed Malfoy had similarly reached a point where words failed to be useful. He just kept looking at Harry, now no longer seeming to be reading his mind, but just _looking_ at him, as if he were trying to work something out on his own. He chewed on his lower lip after a moment and shifted onto his side, angling himself so that he was more open to Harry, as if he was inviting him to do something.

Harry shivered. His hand was only an inch or two from Malfoy's side. Knowing it was probably stupid, but completely unable to care too much about that, he slid his hand across the duvet and slipped his fingers underneath Malfoy's robes, feeling Malfoy shudder as Harry's fingers caressed his skin.

Moving in one slow, fluid motion, Malfoy rolled onto his back and pulled Harry close by the front of his robes, tugging him down into a startlingly soft, gentle kiss. Harry could feel the way Malfoy's lips parted just a fraction, not as if he was intent on claiming Harry, as he had in the past, but almost like he was simply offering a small part of himself. Harry met the tip of Malfoy's tongue with his own, shivering again when they met, sliding together hesitantly. Malfoy had never had a problem trying to claim dominance in this before, taking exactly what he wanted, but this wasn't the same sort of thing all those others had been, was it?

Harry sighed shakily. He knew Malfoy deliberately pushed his buttons, tried to get him worked up to the point where he'd beg for sex, completely out of his mind with wanting, but this wasn't like that at all. He wanted to give into this even more than he'd ever wanted to give in to Malfoy before, even that night in the cabin where he'd barely been able to stop himself. He didn't know what Malfoy wanted from him at the moment, but he was willing to find out.

Reaching out for Malfoy, wanting to feel his body underneath Harry's touch and their breaths mingling so close in the quiet, he sighed. Malfoy still had this lost, wondrous look on his face, but it was gone the moment there was a commotion downstairs, the silence broken by a dozen people exclaiming and doors opening and slamming closed again, and someone giving a triumphant shout. Malfoy and Harry locked eyes again and scrambled up off the bed, both flying for the door without a word, whatever had been happening between them evaporating in an instant.

People were rushing around, darting to and fro, and, despite Malfoy's attempts to ask what was going on, everyone ignored them both. Harry finally caught one of the twins by the elbow as he darted from the kitchen. "Fred. What the hell's going on?"

"Hestia Jones and a few of the others have just captured a small group of Death Eaters!" Fred crowed. "Even killed two of the bastards — a man and a woman." He tugged himself out of Harry's grip. "Gotta go and get George — he'll be angry he's missed this news, after that hex he took from one last week out in Liverpool."

Fucking _finally_. It seemed like the Order was content to sit around and wait for the war to come to them instead of going out and actually _doing_ something, and that drove Harry a bit insane, really. He turned around to exclaim his excitement at Malfoy, who hadn't seemed comfortable with just sitting around and waiting, either, and stopped before he'd even got his mouth open.

Malfoy stood behind him, completely still. His face was ashen, and, when he reached up to grip the bannister, Harry saw the slight tremble in his hand. It hit him all at once: Fuck, what if those killed Death Eaters were Malfoy's _parents_?

His notion of the Malfoys being nothing but evil, heartless bastards had got a bit of a challenge in the last few weeks. After his time with Malfoy in that old cottage, and learning that Narcissa herself had personally taught her son to Apparate in order to up the odds that he could escape and keep himself safe, he'd started to rethink some of his assumptions. He'd been able to gather that neither she nor Lucius Malfoy were at Voldemort's right hand at this point, and that, at the very least, _she_ cared about her son and wanted him safe. Harry thought it might even be possible that the Malfoys wouldn't disown their son for defecting to the Order.

No one else, however, seemed to notice this potential complication.

Harry meant to head back up the staircase, back up where Malfoy stood, looking as if he were trying to keep composed while the world burned around him, but the twins reappeared before he could, carrying him away, towards the rest of the members of the Order who were busy either celebrating or trying to get all relevant details from Hestia Jones and Sturgis Podmore, whom Harry hadn't even known had been released from Azkaban. By the time he got free, Malfoy was no longer on the stairs, and his attempts to enter the room where they had both just been were unsuccessful. 

"Hey, Malfoy," he tried, mouth practically pressed against the door in an attempt to direct his voice into the room without having everyone else hear him. "It's me. Let me in. I want to talk to you."

He waited, listening for any noise inside the room, but there was nothing. Not a single sound could be heard. Still, he stood there for several minutes, hoping that Malfoy would let him in. When the door did not unlock and Malfoy did not say a word, despite two more tries to get him to answer, Harry sighed and headed back down the stairs. He trusted Malfoy enough to share some things but, apparently, Malfoy felt there were limits on what he'd share in return.

— O —

Draco had been virtually numb since last night and it was only with a concerted effort that he managed to get up and make himself eat a meal. It was already dark again, and he met no one on his way to the kitchen — surprising, as the Order seemed to consider that their default gathering place. He felt vaguely guilty he hadn't opened the door for Potter last night, but, in all honesty, he didn't know what he might have done or said if he had. He headed back to his room with a sandwich foisted upon him by the house-elf who seemed to be fond of him in a way he wasn't with anyone else — very likely due to Draco's belonging to the Black family tree. He was almost glad not to have to see anyone, and walked back up towards his room thinking that a good, long shower would help him push things from his mind so he could sleep.

That was, however, until he heard Potter's angry voice from the study.

Looking around for anyone who might see him, Draco crept closer. The door was cracked just enough for him to see a dozen people, all of them older members of the Order, plus Potter. Whereas nearly everyone else was sitting on sofas or in chairs, Potter was standing not far from the door, hands balled into fists at his side.

Food could wait. Draco had to find out what was going on that was so important that most of the senior members of the order — Minerva McGonagall amongst them — had decided to convene with Potter, who was obviously displeased about whatever it was.

"I just don't think that's important!" Potter snapped, interrupting Remus Lupin in the middle of whatever point he was making. 

"I know you don't; you've made that very clear," Lupin said in reply, his own voice strained. Draco wished he knew what the hell they were talking about. "But everyone else thinks the plan's the most logical way to go, and —"

"How come everyone else gets to decide that sort of thing without me?" Potter asked. Draco scanned the room and held his breath. He knew it was potentially possible to get a read on multiple people at once through Legilimency, though it was supposed to be difficult as hell. Well, what did he have to lose? No one here in the Order trusted him any more anyway. Best case scenario, he'd learn the identities of the Death Eaters caught last night, because no one was going to tell him anything, that was damned certain.

"The Order acts as a whole," Moody said gruffly. "There's decades of experience here, Potter —"

"Yeah, and believe it or not, I sort of have some experience in this whole fighting Voldemort thing, too," Potter said angrily. 

Draco got a wave of frustration and agitation from the few other members of the Order who didn't appear to actively be using Occlumency and felt a little dizzy. So much for that experiment. But Potter's mind was sometimes interesting (Merlin knew it had been last night, when Draco'd got a very clear message that, even if everyone else thought him lower than pond scum and a potential security risk, Potter held some measure of trust). Perhaps they'd told him something they hadn't told Draco.

"No one's saying you don't!" McGonagall said, sounding as though she were trying to be calming. "We all know you do, Harry. It's simply a matter of being able to take the personal nature out of it —"

_ Yeah, because none of you took that whole death of Dumbledore thing personally, _ Draco thought sarcastically.

"— and combine a number of sources of information in order to distil a plan that's likely to be most effective."

Potter looked ready to explode. "It's my life we're playing with here," he shouted, and Draco watched Remus Lupin, as well as both Arthur and Molly Weasley, recoil a bit, as if struck. "If you want me to keep risking it, how about you listen to my ideas and suggestions?" Though his mouth remained closed after that, Draco heard, very clearly, another message: _This wouldn't be so much of an argument if Ron and Hermione were here_.

McGonagall looked a bit abashed, but Moody kept Potter's gaze, though his creepy eye seemed to suddenly swivel towards the door where Draco stood, and he wished he knew a way to keep himself invisible from that thing. Still, if he tried to sneak away now, he'd almost certainly be caught. So he just stayed very still, and hoped that thing wasn't on its highest alert mode. 

"We're not playing with your life," Lupin said earnestly, breaking in before Moody could say anything. "We're trying to keep you safe; that's the whole point, don't you see?"

Potter's expression darkened. _Yeah, right_ , Draco heard in his head, clear as day. _There's this whole prophecy which says we can't both live, and Voldemort's sort of taking that to heart. And I'm starting to get the feeling that it means that I might_ also _die_. Draco held his breath, but Potter said nothing aloud for several more moments. "Fine," he said finally, looking as if someone had deflated him. 

Before anyone could catch him eavesdropping, Draco turned and crept back towards his room. He laid his plate, untouched, upon his desk and sat upon his bed. He knew Legilimency often meant you might hear something you didn't want to, but he'd had no idea he might learn something like this. It suddenly hit Draco just how much Potter had at stake, and how much Potter himself realised that. It was baffling to know that he was so... resigned to it. No, _accepting_ of it. He appeared to be reaching the point where he might be all right with being a martyr, willing to die for the cause, for everyone _else_.

And Draco... well, he really couldn't think of any reason he'd do the same. For all the shit he and his friends had given Potter about his supposedly selfless nature, or about his fame-seeking, they'd never _really_ figured Potter would be so ready to lay down his life. 

Draco knew he might do a lot of desperate things — in fact, he might do _nearly_ anything to make certain his parents were all right — but _that_? Giving up one's life, so willingly, for someone else? That was fucking madness. And was it really going to do anyone any good, in the end? Or would it just be some noble cause that meant nothing other than one more dead body and a symbol for the masses to rally behind?

As he lay there and tried to wrap his head around the package that was Harry Potter, Draco came to a decision. It might be wrapped up in his own selfish desire to have Potter for his own, but he needed someone who knew what he was considering try to dissuade him from that course of action. Because Merlin knew no one in the Order would. Potter's friends might, but Granger and Weasley were off on some undercover mission related to one of the last remaining Horcruxes (information lifted from Molly Weasley one night), and no one seemed to know how long they would be gone. And, as Potter had pointed out a week ago, he _did_ sometimes have a problem with impulse control.

Of course, trying to talk Potter out of this whole martyr thing was bound to be unsuccessful — both because he seemed to think it not only right, but also likely the only option, _and_ because, in order to confront him with it, Draco would have to admit to more Legilimency and spying, just when Potter had finally started to trust him. He couldn't simply tell him not to go through with it. The most he could do would be to try to convince the damned Gryffindor to have some fucking self-preservation instinct.

... Though, from what Draco had seen, that might be harder than simply walking up to You-Know-Who himself and asking him to go a little easy on Potter.

Fuck it. Draco would do enough to appease his conscience. He wasn't a miracle worker. He would be lucky to keep the reckless git safe until he decided to give in to a good shag. At least then Draco could have something to remember him by.

— O —

Time seemed meaningless, an illusion of order forced upon the world, as Harry stood with his back against the wall. His body felt unlike his own, full of sparkling light, even in the dark, and he could taste the tension in the air, electric on his tongue as he took a long, ragged breath through barely-parted lips. Every detail of the world burnt itself into his brain, into his skin, into the very core of him, until he had to wonder how his body could contain it all.

Harry watched as Malfoy slid out of his robes slowly, letting them puddle at his feet. The moonlight shone over his shoulders and the tips of his hair, lighting him silvery-blue. He was fucking breathtaking like this, and Harry couldn't help but be transfixed by the way he moved, graceful and full of power. He wanted to feel that body up against his, the firm angles and the softer bits, the feel of Malfoy's skin and the beat of his heart in his veins. "Ready?" he asked softly, considering Harry with a slight smirk.

"Yes," Harry breathed. He'd waited long enough, had denied himself this too many times already. 

"Then come here."

Harry crossed the room, a mixture of exhilaration and trepidation filling him. He stopped just in front of Malfoy, nearly forgetting to breathe when the other boy dipped his head and nipped lightly at the soft juncture between neck and shoulder. His robes were sliding down, off his shoulders, the material slipping down his back and over his arse as it made its way to the floor, with startling simplicity. "What now?" he whispered, unable to look away from Malfoy's eyes, shining silver in the dark. 

"Now, you trust me," Malfoy murmured, his breath warm against Harry's cheek. "And see what happens."

Harry swallowed hard. "All right."

Hand on Harry's chest, Malfoy pushed him down onto the bed and knelt between his legs. "Close your eyes."

Harry did as he was told, feeling the cool cotton of the sheet on his back. Malfoy leaned over him, his skin brushing Harry's ever so slightly, and Harry moaned, feeling his cock twitch. God, why hadn't he trusted Malfoy with this before?

There was suddenly something rough around his wrists, rubbing uncomfortably against the sensitive skin there, and, as soon as he noticed it, he felt the same sensation around his ankles. Before he could say anything, Malfoy was pressed up against him, providing delicious friction against his cock. He hissed and bucked his hips, meaning to pull Malfoy close, only then noticing that his arms were above his head, and there was no give. 

He was bound in place. "What...?" he asked, worry snaking its way through him with slippery speed.

Malfoy didn't reply, and Harry heard his earlier reply in his head: _Now you trust me, and see what happens_. Instead, he looked up at Harry, a malicious sneer on his face, and the ropes went tighter. "Oh, Potter," he murmured. "You see where trusting me gets you?" He reached down and placed his hands around Harry's throat, thumb squeezing into Harry's collarbone and edging towards his Adam's apple as he grinned darkly.

Harry struggled as Malfoy shook him, hands around his throat. Everything was dark and he felt fuzzy. "Damn it, Potter," Malfoy snapped from above him, "wake the fuck up already."

Harry's eyes finally responded and the darkness was replaced by the flickering light of one single lamp. He gasped, hands going to his throat to pry Malfoy's away, but there were no hands there. Instead, there was one holding the lamp, and another latched onto Harry's upper shoulder, thumb pressed into Harry's collarbone, shaking him. Panic told him he was moments from being suffocated, Malfoy's hands misleadingly distant, and then logic and sense reasserted themselves and he realised it had just been a dream, another nightmare, deceptively real. "What?" he finally choked, trying to tell himself he wasn't being suffocated, wasn't bound to the bed.

"Something's going on," Malfoy whispered, letting him go and nodding towards the door. 

Harry put on his glasses, sat up, and listened, absently rubbing at his throat as if Malfoy had really been trying to choke him moments ago. Malfoy looked exhausted and haggard, as if he'd been having his own issues sleeping. He could hear people shouting downstairs, feet thundering on the staircase, and doors slamming. But worst of all, and terribly clear over all the other noise, was the sound of people _crying_. Dread sank into every bone in his body, and one look at Malfoy showed that he felt it, too. He turned his face towards Malfoy, unable to ask what needed to be asked.

Malfoy just shook his head, stooped down at the side of the bed, and tossed Harry's robes into his lap. "Come on."

Harry flung open the door to his room and ran down the stairs. No one seemed to be paying him any attention, ignoring all of his attempts to get answers, and by the time he got to the kitchen the Weasley twins were huddled close together in the corner, Mr Weasley had his arms around Mrs Weasley, murmuring to her as she sobbed into her hands, and Fleur was rubbing her hand on Bill's back. "Okay. seriously," Harry demanded, grabbing Lupin by the arm, "what's going on?" His stomach was twisting so much he thought he might vomit. "What's happened?"

Lupin's face contorted, and he looked even worse than he usually did after a full moon. He looked away, and Harry knew — he _knew_.

"Ron and Hermione," he whispered, feeling his heart plummet when Lupin nodded. "Voldemort got them."

"I'm afraid so," Lupin said, voice breaking. 

"Are they...?" He hated that he was asking this, because this wasn't how things were supposed to work out. "Are they dead?"

"No," Tonks answered from Lupin's side when he couldn't seem to. "At least, we don't think so. Just captured. He'll... he'll probably try to get information out of them."

Just then, there was a commotion out near the Floo, and Tonks murmured "Ginny", pulling Lupin out of the room with her. 

It felt like someone had sucked all the air out of the room at the same time they'd kicked him in the stomach. The Weasleys were all huddled together, soon joined by Ginny, who was crying nearly as hard as her mother, and everyone was focussed on comforting them. Harry knew that only made sense, but God damn it, it was his two best friends who'd been captured, and he'd _told_ them it had — or it would — and no one had listened.

"Hey," a voice whispered in his ear, and Harry let himself be turned until he was looking at Malfoy. "Come with me." He tugged at Harry's elbow and led him out into the corridor, shutting the door behind them. "I know what you're going through."

"Oh yeah?" Harry snapped. "How could you know what it's like to hear that the two people you love most might be —?" He stopped, feeling simultaneously hot and cold. "Your parents," he breathed. Shit, how could he have forgotten?

"Yeah," Malfoy said, eyes dark. "My parents."

"It's just that — I mean, I _told_ them, and no one believed me. No one even _listened_ to me!" he said, feeling his voice get louder. He couldn't seem to stop it.

Malfoy laid a hand on his arm. "I did."

Two softly-spoken words and a simple touch, and it felt like someone had hit Harry with a Stunning spell. He'd got the feeling Malfoy believed at least some of what he was saying, but to have him confirm it so calmly, so matter-of-factly....

"Come on," Malfoy said after a moment of silence in which Harry fought not to just pull him in for a desperate, relieved kiss, once he'd remembered how to breathe again. "Let's go back to the others and see what the next course of action is. You all right to do that?"

"Yeah," Harry said with a nod. "Yeah, I think so."

When they reentered the kitchen, most of the panic seemed to have faded from the room. People were no longer darting around, looking frantic. Instead, there was just quiet comforting and a funereal air that made Harry's skin crawl. "So," he said loudly as he walked in, Malfoy not far behind him, causing everyone to look up at him. "What's the rescue plan?"

"What do you mean, 'rescue plan'?" Lupin asked, handing Ginny a mug of tea that she ignored. 

Harry just blinked at him, dumbfounded. Maybe he'd just misheard. "I've been telling you for over a week that I have details about what's happened. If ever there was a time to act on them, now would be it, don't you think?"

He expected an apology, or at least an agreement from Lupin, but what he got instead was a snort from Moody. "Too many of those details don't match the ones we've got in our report of what's happened, Potter," he said gruffly, and, were it not for the furtive hand that Malfoy suddenly placed against Harry's back, grounding him, Harry might have just drawn his wand and hexed the man who could probably restrain him in all sorts of creative ways Harry couldn't even imagine.

"I'm sorry?"

"This is just a coincidence, Potter. It has nothing to do with your little dream. You-Know-Who's not likely to give you that sort of insight again. He's used it once to his advantage, and even he has to know that only a fool would trust it again. Besides, both Weasley and Granger have been trained a bit regarding what to do if they were ever captured. This was a possibility they acknowledged from the beginning."

Harry's insides felt like someone had just sunk a razor-sharp icicle into them. "So there's no plan to go and rescue them?" At the table, Molly Weasley began to cry harder, and Harry saw both twins move to flank her, looking ready to hex people.

"Not right this second," Moody said, shaking his head. "We're sticking to the plan to attack Voldemort we've been planning for the last several weeks."

Malfoy's hand at his back as a reminder or not, Harry couldn't take that as an answer. "Fine," he said, barely getting the word out. He whirled on his heel, nearly crashing into Malfoy, and strode out the door, headed for his room before he simply exploded with rage. Why the fuck wouldn't people help him figure out how to get them back?

— O —

Draco watched, leaning against the door to Potter's bedroom, as Potter paced his room furiously. He was going to wear a hole in the floor, stomping around like that. "Why don't people realise I need to get them back before we attempt this final surprise attack?" he muttered, tugging at his hair. Draco had seen him pretty agitated in the last several weeks, but there was a definite foundation of rage underneath this. In a state like this, Potter would be very little good to anyone as a potential saviour.

It was easy to see, if he hadn't managed to acknowledge it by now, that Potter was just dead-set on some things. No matter what method of logic he tried, or even any attempts to play on Potter's emotions, Draco would never talk him out of his 'charge ahead and damn the concept of self-preservation' mentality. 

He opened his mouth, knowing this was one of those moments Snape would threaten him with bodily harm for, were he around, and said the words he'd been thinking before he could let common sense take them away: "I'll help."

Potter stopped pacing so suddenly he nearly fell into his bedside table. "What?"

"I'll help. I'll help you get your best friends back."

Potter stared at him for a moment, and Draco was intensely grateful he was no good at Legilimency himself. He couldn't let Potter know all of his reasons for offering. "You don't exactly look eager to help."

Of course he wasn't. Didn't Potter know that no matter how any potential rescue situation went, Draco would be walking into just as much danger, if not more? He didn't exactly have any love for Weasley or Granger (and wasn't that an understatement?) but he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if no one offered to help, Potter was just going to Apparate out of this house and try to rescue his friends _on his own_ , because he was an utter moron with an unfailing and dangerous sense of loyalty. At least if Draco was with him, Potter might have a better chance of getting out of the situation alive. And it wasn't as if Draco'd really considered that _he_ would be getting out of this war alive. Any illusions he'd had on that front had disappeared the moment he'd heard his parents were dead.

"Forgive me if I don't feel like this is the safest thing I've ever done."

Potter moved closer, his face inches from Draco's, his green eyes looking up so intently into Draco's. "Then why offer at all?"

Because it was all a lost cause anyway. He couldn't talk Potter out of this — no one could. And, with the conflict surging inside him, this was really the best of all the shitty options the universe had left him with. 

He wanted Potter, wanted him in a way he hadn't bothered to conceal since that night in the wine cellar. And, that night, he had told Potter he intended to help him get everything he _needed_ from then on. And, despite any other initial meaning within that sentence, the statement remained true, even if the sentiment had evolved. 

He wanted to _be_ what Potter needed, not just the answer to his physical desires. But he didn't want to be what Potter needed if what he wanted was to walk in there and sacrifice himself. Yes, it was selfish, but there were things _he_ wanted, and Potter was now sort of on that list. He was also very likely the only thing Draco might actually _get_ off that list, now that his parents were dead. 

"Because I'm protecting my own best overall interests in helping you," he said after several moments. He'd already resigned himself to the fact that things were likely going to go badly, but, of all available options, the chance that he'd keep Potter somewhat safer was better than just sitting around and waiting for him to turn up dead because he was rash and stupid. There was a tiny glimmer of hope within him that said things had worked out all right during the wand retrieval escapade, and they certainly wouldn't have if they hadn't been together. But he quashed even that down. 

Potter laid one hand lightly upon Draco's chest, and Draco closed his eyes for a moment, letting the heat of that hand sink into him. It almost felt like, if he let it, some courage might seep in with it. "You're sure?" Potter asked, quietly, such a drastic change from the distraught energy that had filled him and the room not five minutes before.

Draco removed Potter's hand from its spot, not allowing himself to do something stupid like give it a squeeze before letting it go. "Let's go and save your friends, Potter."

— O —

Once the decision had been made and Malfoy had offered his assistance, it hadn't taken long for things to be put into action. 

Harry had gone over every detail of his dreams that he could remember, letting Malfoy into his mind to see some of the visuals he couldn't adequately describe. Malfoy had pulled back from one such occasion, looking pale. "That's a real place, Potter," he'd whispered, looking like he wanted to be ill. "Fuck me, why _don't_ people listen to you about these things? If this whole thing isn't another misdirection, then I know where your friends are, and fuck the Order and their conflicting details excuse."

It was the validation Harry'd been needing so desperately, though he wished like hell it wasn't coming in this form. "You know how to get us in there?"

"I think so." He swallowed, and Harry caught the way he looked away before he could say what logically followed: _But I'm not sure I can get us out_.

Well, that would be Harry's responsibility.

Malfoy looked at Harry not half an hour later, after they'd run through their plan three times, and Malfoy had told him that while they might be able to Apparate in, they certainly wouldn't be able to Apparate out. "I don't know what we're headed into, exactly," he said, face pinched. "But keep in mind everything I've just told you about Death Eater tactics, all right?"

Harry nodded. There was an awkward silence between them, and Harry wondered if the moment called for him to break it with a kiss — not one of the ones like they'd done in the cellar, or in the cottage after, but something simple and sweet. He shook his head to clear it. No. That would be too close to saying goodbye, and this wasn't the time for that. Neither of them was going anywhere. Later tonight, after Ron and Hermione were here safe and sound and he had to figure out a way to explain — to them, and probably even to himself — what was going on between him and Malfoy... _then_ they could let themselves do that, and whichever way Malfoy wanted it.

"Got your wand?" Malfoy asked after a moment more of that silence where they could only seem to stare at each other.

"Yeah."

"All right, then." Malfoy grabbed his arm and took a deep breath, and Harry was suddenly unsure of nearly everything.

"Hey, Malfoy — _Draco_ — wait —"

"Too late for that, Potter," Malfoy said, shaking his head. "Let's go."

Any other protest slipped away as they Apparated somewhere damp and cold. Harry recognised the old stone floor and walls surrounding them and shivered. This was definitely the place in his dream, down to the sound of dripping water and odour of mildew. "This way," he murmured, gesturing with his wand. He hadn't seen Ron and Hermione's path into their cells in his dream, but he knew they were at the centre of the space, through a maze of corridors, and Malfoy had got them to somewhere along an outside wall. 

They'd been creeping around for two or three minutes, Malfoy sometimes murmuring advice into his ear, when they both heard heavy footfalls and froze. "This way," Harry mouthed, yanking Malfoy by the arm and dragging him around a corner. There wasn't a lot of room to hide but, if they stayed still enough, they might have a chance at remaining undiscovered. Because if there was anything Harry wanted to avoid, it was a repeat of their wand retrieval adventure, complete with a pack of Death Eaters chasing them down and slinging curses their way. 

Their luck didn't hold entirely. A large man who closely resembled Gregory Goyle rounded the corner and spotted them immediately. " _Expelliamus!_ Harry shouted at the same time Malfoy uttered a firm but much quieter " _Constringo_!" Goyle Sr's wand flew from his hand and landed somewhere out of sight a split second before he hit his knees, scrabbling at his chest and throat.

"Move your arse, Potter," Malfoy hissed, yanking him to his feet as Harry watched Goyle wrestle something invisible that seemed to be wrapped around his upper half. "I don't know how long that spell will last."

They moved as quickly and quietly as possible through the corridors, Harry constantly listening for sounds that indicated his friends might be alive while Malfoy kept looking over his shoulder, wand at the ready, in case they were spotted again. After the initial moment of shock, he'd recognised the spell Malfoy had used as one he'd demonstrated during their time in hiding. It wasn't the nastiest of the bunch, but it hadn't been kind, either. Malfoy had insisted Harry learn the handful of spells he knew, even if he refused to use them against another person. They were still present in the back of Harry's mind, like a last defence weapon tucked into his pocket. 

"Harry?"

Ron's voice was hoarse, but Harry would recognise it anywhere. He held his wand more tightly and headed straight for the cell halfway down this new corridor, seeing someone else stir in the cell next to Ron's.

Hermione.

"Harry, is that you?" Ron asked again, and Harry felt like he might break apart, he was so relieved. 

"Yeah, it's me," he whispered, finally close enough to get a good look at his friends.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Ron murmured, standing in a way that showed he was favouring his right leg. "I knew you'd come. I told Hermione that —"

"What's the first spell I corrected you and Ron on during our first year at Hogwarts?" Hermione interrupted, her voice wavering.

Harry was flooded with a sense of exasperation tinged with relief. Trust Hermione to be on the lookout. "My God, Hermione, you're as bad as Lupin."

"Answer the question, please." She looked so wary, but there was something under that.

"You corrected _every_ spell we ever tried," Harry said, trying to hold back a laugh that felt inappropriate under the circumstances. It took a moment of thinking, but it came back to him. " _Wingardium Leviosa_."

"It _is_ you," she breathed, and finally a smile lit up her face, tears spilling from her eyes. "Oh, Harry. We were so worried about you. Even after we got that last Horcrux and destroyed it —"

"Worried about me? You're the ones stuck in a dungeon." He recalled that, the last time they'd heard, he still hadn't emerged from a rather hasty decision to follow Malfoy into what had proven to be a trap. "Speaking of, how do I get you out?"

Hermione talked him through half a dozen incantations before they were rewarded with the sound of groaning metal and the locks on both of their cells clanged open, letting the doors swing open enough to allow them both through. Harry found himself very quickly smothered in an embrace from both sides as both of his best friends enveloped him. 

"Not that I had any doubt you'd come for us, mate," Ron said thickly, "but, all things considered, you seem to have had an easy time coming to get us. Death Eaters think we're not worth guarding or something?"

"Actually, I had a lot of help," Harry said, helping Hermione ball up the thin blankets they'd been given, in case someone walked past and glanced at the supposed prisoners inside. "Malfoy here's been a wealth of knowledge about a lot of Death Eater tactics and behaviours."

"Malfoy?" Hermione said, confused, as she shut the door to her cell behind her. "He's actually _helped_ you?"

Harry expected a very terse rebuttal, but none came. He turned, looking to see what Malfoy was so busy doing that he couldn't bother to snap back a sharp comment, but there was no one where Harry could swear Malfoy had been just a moment ago.

"Malfoy?" Harry said, looking around. There was no answer at all, other than his friends' worried looks. "Shit," he muttered. How had he simply disappeared without Harry noticing? Unease wound through his insides. Had he been captured just before Harry had ducked out of sight? "Where did he —?"

He didn't get any further before a handful of Death Eaters appeared around the corner, wands already up as if they knew exactly where they'd find Harry. Half a dozen spells were shouted at once and, though he managed to separate Bellatrix Lestrange from her wand and Stun Thorfinn Rowle, Harry heard both of his friends cry out in pain a moment before something sharp and hot sank into his chest, spreading into his arms and making him drop his own wand. 

"Just as promised," Bellatrix cackled, Summoning her wand back from wherever it had flown. "Oh, wee little Potter, such a sight for sore eyes. I do believe I owe you some repayment for some of your tricks last month." She advanced as Harry's arms were yanked backwards and Antonin Dolohov gripped him so tightly Harry couldn't help but grunt. 

"Watch it, Bella," Walden MacNair said from nearby, restraining Ron in a very similar way to how Harry was being treated. "You heard our Lord. He, at least, is to be brought back in one piece."

Bellatrix pouted. "You're right. But perhaps he won't begrudge me a bit of fun before he dispatches with this one once and for all. Though I suppose there's always his friends..."

Harry tried to lunge for her and got absolutely nowhere. Dolohov had him good and tight. "You won't —" he started to say, but he got no further before someone pointed their wand at him and his voice locked in his throat. 

"Ah, he _can_ be taught to be silent in the face of his betters," Bellatrix said with a laugh that made Harry's skin crawl. "Well, the Dark Lord awaits. Gentlemen, bring him all three. We're in for quite a treat, I should think."

Harry was helpless as he and his best friends were dragged roughly through the stone corridors. His mind whirled. Had this been another trap set up by Voldemort, visions fed to him once again, or had he and Malfoy just not been careful enough in their rescue attempt? And if they were being treated to this sort of welcome, how badly might they be treating Malfoy, a defector who'd helped Harry try to free their prisoners?

The Death Eaters who'd found them finally emerged from the dungeons into a large, open room with a few long tables, lit brightly with hundreds of lamps. It reminded Harry of the Great Hall in some odd way. In the centre of the room stood a small group of people, a crowd of Death Eaters in a circle around them, some in masks and some with their faces bared. Harry saw Voldemort watching him from the group in the centre, and anger filled him. He couldn't see a way out, but he'd find a way to —

Even that thought faltered and died the second he caught sight of the person standing immediately to Voldemort's right.

Malfoy.

Standing with Voldemort between them and their son were Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. Instead of looking haughty and victorious, like Harry would have expected, both had their faces schooled into carefully neutral expressions as they stared at their son, completely ignoring the procession of Harry and his friends into the room. If it weren't for the absence of ropes or bindings, Harry would have guessed they were just as much prisoners as he was. 

He tried to call Malfoy's name, but whatever spell had been placed upon him in the dungeons had yet to be lifted, and not a sound emerged from his throat. Malfoy didn't even twitch in his direction. He simply looked back at his parents, gaze steady, as if looking away would cause them to disappear.

"Ah, there they are, just as promised," Voldemort said, sibilant voice making Harry feel sick. "And now, as per our agreement..." He waved a hand lazily in the direction of the Malfoys, who started as if shocked, faces no longer neutral so much as tense. "Come here, my boy."

From his other side, Draco Malfoy approached until he was standing right beside Voldemort. "You've served well," Voldemort murmured, and Harry's stomach gave a lurch. "You, along with your parents, may watch what happens next, as a sign of my appreciation." He gave what passed for a smile. "Potter!" he commanded, voice suddenly booming, echoing against the walls and high ceiling of the room. "Approach."

Harry felt Dolohov release him completely, and even the spell locking his voice seemed to melt away. He didn't move at first. Something inside him insisted this couldn't be happening this way. 

But hadn't he known, even back before Dumbledore died, that this was a matter of being forced into a final showdown in one way or another? And the most important detail was not that he be dragged into it, fighting once the time presented itself, but going in with his head held high? Such a small detail, but it made all the difference, didn't it?

Rubbing at his wrist, Harry stood taller and took a deep breath. Twenty steps, maybe twenty-five, and he'd reach Voldemort. He still didn't know exactly what he would do, especially without his wand, but he would face it on his terms.

His brain screamed that this was supremely stupid, that he could _see_ that Malfoy was at Voldemort's side. But he knew, completely irrationally, that Draco _wasn't_. As he moved steadily closer with legs that felt heavy, he caught Malfoy's eye, looking for some sign. He needed to know that Malfoy was on his side — not the Order's, not the side of 'good', or 'light', but specifically _his_ side.

Malfoy finally raised his eyes and looked back. And there was nothing.

No wink, no nod, no mouthed word that might hold some significance for Harry, no look in his eye. There was no fucking indication whatsoever that Malfoy was acting on behalf of anyone other than himself.

And some voice in the back of Harry's mind, one cloaked in darkness and shadows, whispered "...trust me, and see what happens."

— O —

They'd reached Potter's friends without another incident, and Draco began to think they might even survive the night, when the soft sound of rustling robes caught his attention as Potter rounded another corner.

Draco paused. He couldn't call to Potter and risk alerting someone. He turned to follow.

"Draco!"

He turned back immediately, hearing the whispered hiss of his name in a voice that sounded so much like his mother's. After a moment of debate, he turned towards the direction of the voice that had called his name and headed that way. 

He caught sight of his mother's long blonde hair at the end of another corridor, and his heart stuttered. She was alive. A more intent look in that direction, just before the small group of people turned another corner, revealed his father's form. 

They were _both_ alive.

Draco had never been more relieved in his life.

He sneaked quietly through the corridors, aided by a few of the spells he'd learned from Potter. He had to follow; there was no other option. He was perhaps thirty paces behind when he kicked a pebble and one member of the group turned suddenly. "Traitor," Selwyn hissed, drawing his wand and looking ready to hex.

"Wait!" Draco said, putting his hands up in deference. 

The entire group was upon him in a moment, none besides his parents looking anything resembling forgiving. "Unless you can hand over Harry Potter, boy, we don't care for anything you have to say," Voldemort said from beside Selwyn, appearing from somewhere unseen. 

Draco looked at his parents, catching the way his father's hand trembled just a fraction as he moved to put a hand at his mother's elbow, intent on keeping her from rushing to him, and made a decision.

"I can," he said quietly, hanging his head. 

"You can what?"

"I can deliver Harry Potter."

Everyone stared at him, and Draco knew that even though he was telling the truth, this group wouldn't hesitate to make him pay if he didn't prove himself quickly enough. "And how do you propose to do that?" Dolohov asked, wand looking even more threatening than it had just a moment ago.

"Potter's here," Draco said, his throat tight. "He's rescuing his friends. He's probably already found them."

"And we believe you, just like that?" Rowle growled.

Draco looked him in the eye. "If he's not, if you can't find him, then you can do with me whatever you wish."

His mother gasped, but his aunt stepped out from behind Voldemort and peered at him. "Let's go," she whispered. "If he's telling the truth, you'll be able to finish things this very night, my lord."

Voldemort nodded. "Bellatrix. Rowle. Dolohov. MacNair. You four head for where the prisoners are being kept. Bring all three to me, in the chamber." He turned back to Draco as the group headed back the direction Draco had come. "All other transgressions aside," he said slowly, that hint of a hiss present in his voice and making Draco feel ill, "perhaps, if you're right about this, I may rethink my plans for the Malfoy family. Come."

He led them all out of the maze of corridors into a room lit with golden light from hundreds of candles and lamps. Voldemort pressed his wand into the Dark Mark in Selwyn's arm and, within seconds, Death Eaters began to arrive, gathering into a circle around Voldemort, who stood in the centre of the room. The room was nearly full by the time the group of four strode in, Potter and his friends in tow. 

"Ah, there they are, just as promised," Voldemort said, looking quite pleased. "And now, as per our agreement..."

He waved a hand and his mother and father gasped, going slack as if they'd just been released from bindings Draco couldn't see. Voldemort ignored them and turned to look directly at Draco. "Come here, my boy."

With great care to look as though his heart wasn't hammering in his chest, Draco walked forwards until he was standing on Voldemort's side. "You've served well," Voldemort said softly, giving him a look that might have been fond, on a normal person. "You, along with your parents, may watch what happens next, as a sign of my appreciation." 

Draco nodded, trying to appear grateful. He didn't think he could watch much of anything right now.

Voldemort turned away, apparently not noticing Draco's lack of enthusiasm. " Harry Potter!" he called out, voice echoing around the room as if he'd used a Sonorous Charm. "Approach."

Dolohov gave Potter a slight shove forward, but Potter remained upright. He rubbed at his wrists and drew himself up tall, refusing, as always, to appear beaten in the face of the enemy. Draco could feel Potter's eyes on him, but he couldn't bear to look into Potter's face, not now, not after a betrayal like this.

Slowly, Potter moved forwards. Halfway through his journey, Draco glanced up, against his better judgement, and met his eyes. He couldn't let him see how he felt about this. It would make what came next impossible to withstand. 

"Ah, no, I think not," Voldemort said quietly, and Potter's eyes flicked away, his face suddenly more determined than it had been. Draco looked up as well, wondering if he'd betrayed more than he intended in that look, but Voldemort only raised his wand over Potter's shoulder and bound Granger and Weasley. "I do want you to see this in your own final moments," he said, and Draco watched as their heads whipped forward. Potter's face went even tighter, and he looked from his friends back to Draco. 

"Now, Harry. Come closer and kneel before me."

Potter's stare seemed to bore directly into Draco. There was trust in that look but, after another moment, that started to flicker, replaced by a hard determination. Draco felt his own resolve waver, and he had to look away. He couldn't keep up that look. 

But this was what he had to do, even if Potter couldn't see that. There were things Draco needed, too. Potter wasn't the only one who needed things, after all. And this was the only way Draco could even hope to get them, even though everything might still be snatched away. He had one shot at being remotely happy, and he _had_ to take it.

As Potter approached, now mere steps from Voldemort, Draco wondered just how much Potter trusted him now.

— O —

"Come closer and kneel before me."

Harry clenched his jaw. He would come closer, but he would not kneel. He would remain strong until the very end, no matter how much it cost him. Hermione had said they'd destroyed the last of the remaining Horcruxes, which meant that even if he didn't survive this evening, even if the attempt to vanquish Voldemort failed, someone else would still have a chance to finish the job. Approaching slowly, feeling as if time had found a way to slow itself down, he looked up again at Malfoy. He had the feeling, growing stronger every moment, that he would not walk away from this showdown. But that didn't mean he couldn't take Voldemort with him. He didn't yet know how he might do that without his wand, which currently lay in Lucius Malfoy's trembling hands, as if he were simply a ceremonial display, of no other use but to keep the wand safe until Voldemort required it for something. But something told him that, when the moment presented itself, he _would_ know.

Malfoy met his eyes once more, but wasn't able to hold the contact. Jerking away from Harry's gaze, he looked instead to his parents, seemingly mesmerised by the simple fact that he'd been able to get what he wanted after all. He looked at his mother so intently that Harry almost couldn't blame him for what was happening.

And really, some part of Harry, despite the events of the last several minutes, couldn't feel betrayed. This was what he had been meant for, anyway, wasn't it? To die, in order for Voldemort to be killed, even if Harry didn't see it coming in _this_ way. 

"Kneel," Voldemort hissed again, and, though Harry resisted, opening his mouth to say that he would never lower himself to that, a quick flick of Voldemort's wand shot pain into both of his knees and sapped all the strength out of his legs, forcing him down onto the ground in a short moment. He couldn't manage to stand, but Harry was able to keep himself from crying out. Small victories. 

"That's better." Voldemort turned his head slightly and murmured something to the elder Malfoys, who moved towards him. Lucius Malfoy looked very nearly terrified, Harry's wand still held in front of him like an offering, but Narcissa moved closer with a surety in her step, never once looking away from her son, who only stared back intently. Harry couldn't hear what was said next, but Draco finally looked away from his mother and back at Voldemort, looking as if he wanted to be sick. And then, in what had to be the most ridiculous and unexpected thing Harry thought possible, Voldemort reached out and put his arms around Malfoy in what might be the world's most awkward hug.

After that, things happened very, very quickly.

At the same moment Voldemort embraced Malfoy, Narcissa moved just a half-step closer, fitting in front of her husband and forcing him into the background. One of Malfoy's hands slid into Voldemort's robes as Voldemort wrapped his arms around him, and Harry saw something glimmer in his palm in the split second before it came sailing through the air at him. He caught it neatly, more of a reflex than any conscious intent, and Harry recognised it from one of Malfoy's drawings the night they'd heard about the captured and killed Death Eaters and remembered a scrap of nightmare as well. An old family heirloom, a safety amulet passed down amongst Malfoy's family members for centuries. It was meant to be given to symbolise keeping one's heart and soul safe, often in marriage. But in Harry's dream, Voldemort had taken it from Narcissa Malfoy, despite her request to keep it, and touched it with his wand, turning the stone from ice-blue to emerald-green.

This wasn't a Horcrux. But it was still important, still a safeguard, and Harry had to destroy it. And he had maybe two seconds to do it before Voldemort realised what had just happened.

Ignoring the pain in his legs, Harry launched himself into a standing position and dropped the amulet at his feet. He brought his foot down upon it, crushing it into the stone floor and wincing as a noise that sounded like a hundred heartbroken sighs escaped from the shattered pieces. Voldemort looked at him in horror, shoving Malfoy away, and, as he fumbled for his wand, Narcissa Malfoy whispered something that sent Harry's wand flying from the open hands of her husband directly into Harry's.

This was it. His only chance.

Oddly, he'd never actually given thought to which spell he might use to kill the darkest wizard in history. He knew he could never utter the Killing Curse, no matter how much he might want Voldemort dead, no matter the multitude of reasons for that desire. He latched onto the only thing that seemed like it might work — a spell that had been scrawled in the margins of Severus Snape's old Potions text, a hundred pages past _Sectumsempra_. Harry didn't know how well it might ever have worked for Snape, and his notes only said the results might vary with intent and wand movement but, once again, it felt _right_.

" _Exige_!" he shouted with everything within him, at the same moment that green light burst forth from Voldemort's wand and headed directly for him. Red light flew from his wand, making him think briefly of the spell that had linked his wand and Voldemort's back in the Little Hangleton Graveyard. As if thinking about it had influenced what was happening before his eyes, both bolts of light met nearly centrally between them. Only instead of a band of gold light like the one produced that evening, the light of this one turned silvery-white, shooting long sparks in several directions. 

There was a number of loud popping sounds around him and, in his periphery, Harry saw members of the Order of the Phoenix appear out of the air, all with wands at the ready. He would have called to them, but all his effort was needed to maintain his grip on his wand, which thrummed in his hand, not at all seeming to be pleased with the combination of spells. 

The red light from his wand shot forward until it met the tip of Voldemort's, and, at the very moment he thought this might be over, Voldemort letting out a shriek and falling towards the ground, a bright silver spark shot out to the side. The spell was deflected easily by someone in the crowd, faces unrecognisable as Death Eaters and Order Members began their own duels, and then Harry felt it hit him square in the chest, smooth, slippery coldness suffusing him completely.

He dropped his wand, fingers already numb, and staggered backwards. It was almost like being underwater, he thought distantly. It wasn't like drowning at all, that panicky, painful burning feeling he remembered from his last few moments in the lake during the Triwizard Tournament. This was more like being wrapped in a shroud of cool cotton, everything going fuzzy and losing its colour. He sank to his knees and saw a few people in the distance turn his way, mouths opening and closing as if they were shouting at him, but he couldn't hear them. His ears were full of the deep sound of his heartbeat, the heavy thud that slowed with each repetition, each new beat lower and longer, until he found himself on his back, floating on some soft cushion he couldn't see, and waiting with a soft smile for the next beat that did not come.

— O —

Draco watched as Voldemort crumpled to the ground just a single moment before a silvery bolt of light hit Potter in the chest. Self-preservation instincts fled, with the sensation of triumph he'd felt when Potter had smashed the amulet underneath his foot, at the moment Potter's eyes went wide and he stumbled backwards, looking as wobbly as a newborn unicorn. 

"Potter!"

He sprinted across the chamber, closing the short distance to Potter's side as he fell onto his back, a soft, peaceful, and ultimately satisfied expression on his face.

_ Fuck, I've killed him, _ Draco thought, panicked, as he sprinted, waiting for Potter to move, to twitch, to roll over and prove him wrong. _One shot at getting what I want, and I've failed at_ that, _too_. He'd tried, Merlin knew he had, though it had taken everything he had not to betray his intentions to anyone before he'd had a chance to get that damned amulet. It had been so difficult, with Potter's trusting expression drilling into him, that wordless request for reassurance that Draco couldn't give him, lest he ruin everything. Now it didn't matter. He'd ruined it all, anyway. What did any potential redemption in the eyes of the wizarding world matter now, with Potter gone?

Granger and Weasley shot past him, Weasley moving faster than anyone with an injured leg should be able to, and the distraught way Granger cried Potter's name as they reached his still form was like a knife in Draco's chest. He knew from the way she said it, the way tears coursed down her cheeks, and the way Weasley went deathly pale, that Potter wasn't just Stunned, needing a moment to recover his senses.

"Out of the way!" someone growled, sounding wild and dangerous as a feral dog, and Draco and Potter's best friends were all shoved roughly out of the way. "Harry!" 

Draco recognised Remus Lupin's shabby, beat-up form before he placed his choked voice, and he fought the urge to shout at him, to grab him by his robes and slam him into the wall, demanding that he pay for what had happened. Because if anyone at all from the Order had bothered to listen to Potter about his friends, this might never have happened. Clenching his shaking hands into fists, Draco instead forced himself to look Lupin in the eye. "Fix him."

Granger and Weasley gaped at him for a moment, one of Potter's hands clutched in both of Granger's, before Weasley spoke. "Can you?" he asked Lupin, his voice barely audible over the sounds of others fighting all around them.

Lupin ran the tip of his wand down Potter's chest and shuddered. Draco had the insane urge to shove him away and simply Apparate them both to St Mungo's. Instead, he knelt at Potter's other side and whispered " _Excito_."

Nothing happened that Draco could see, but Granger's eyes went wide as if something had clicked in her head, and, after a quick Summoning charm that brought hers and Weasley's wands to them, something that looked like blood smeared on the grip of his, she pointed the tip of hers at Potter's chest. Weasley seemed to understand it at the same moment Draco did. " _Ennervate_!" he said before Granger had a chance to open her mouth.

She flicked her eyes up at Weasley. "He's not _Stunned_ , Ron," she said, centring the tip of her wand directly over Potter's heart. Closing her eyes, she breathed " _Vivere_ " so softly Draco barely heard her. Subtly, so minutely that Draco might have imagined it, Potter's foot twitched.

"If you know any spells that might help, now would be the time," Lupin muttered, not looking up. "Hermione's got the idea."

Draco racked his brain for anything that might be of use. Granger and Lupin continued to murmur soft spells in a gentle litany. Weasley just sort of stared down at Potter as if he could _will_ him alive, and muttered "fuck, just breathe, come on, Harry", in the absence of any apparent Healing knowledge. 

" _Suspiro_ ," Draco finally murmured, clinging to the last shred of hope he had. " _Eviglio_. _Resurrectio_ , damn it."

At their knees, Potter moaned and stirred. Draco held his breath, Weasley shut up, Granger let out a squeak, and Lupin just repeated _Eviglio_ twice more until Potter opened his eyes and blinked up at them.

"Harry!" both Granger and Weasley shouted, Granger nearly smothering him in a hug that was probably halfway to killing him all over again.

"Let the boy breathe," Lupin said, attempting to tug both of Harry's friends away with some element of success. 

He looked about to say something else, but was preempted by someone shouting from across the room. "Remus!"

"Tonks!" he whispered, head snapping up. He looked back down at Potter, then at the rest of them. "Draco, Ron, Hermione. Stay with him. I've got to —"

"It's all right," Potter said, sitting up and waving him in the direction of his wife. "I'm fine, I —"

"Could sort of use your help, little brother," a voice panted nearby, and Weasley turned in that direction, swearing.

"I'm sorry, Harry —"

"Just _go_! Hermione, you too, if you think you can help."

"Are you _certain_ —" she began, and then a scream from nearby seemed to decide her. "We'll be back as soon as we can," she said, giving Potter another quick hug before getting off her knees and running off with Weasley.

"All right, the hell with this," Draco muttered, looking around them. Bodies littered the floor and there were still at least two dozen people still up and fighting. "We're moving your arse somewhere you're not in danger of being trampled, or killed by some lunatic Death Eater." He stood, Potter getting up at the same time, and caught Potter by his robes when he wavered. " _Are_ you all right?"

"I'm fine," Potter said, his tone completely unconvincing. Draco wouldn't put it at all past Potter to insist he was all right, even as he was dying. He was the worst combination of noble and stubborn. With a sigh, Draco looked him in the eye, accessing his thoughts easily through Legilimency.

Potter's mind wasn't nearly so clear as it usually was. It was almost like trying to eavesdrop somewhere with a bad echo. Everything was white light and soft focus, an essence of purity layered over the few things Draco could see. A woman's gentle voice filled the space, and Draco caught "not yet time", and "such a brave one, our little boy", and "so very proud of you, Harry", along with the briefest of glimpses of a woman with long ginger hair and a beautiful smile, clothed in a white dress with a crown of white lily flowers atop her head before it all faded away. _Not dying,_ came Potter's smug voice, much stronger than it had been out loud just a moment ago. _Did that once today. That was enough for me_.

Draco pulled away and looked at Potter, who offered a faint smirk. "You're such a prat," he muttered, shaking his head. Potter's focus moved over Draco's shoulder and the smirk faded from his face. Draco followed his gaze and saw what had been happening around them for the last several minutes. 

The fighting was over. One of the Weasley twins rushed to McGonagall's side, shaking his head, as his mirror image limped over, blood pouring from his shoulder. "Couldn't catch them," the uninjured one said as another member of the Order caught the other one and halted the bleeding with a quick spell. "They've run off, the cowards." He turned to his brother. "You all right there, George?"

"Never better," his twin answered. "Got that one back for the hex he threw at me last month. Dad's the one I'm worried about."

Draco and Potter both followed his pointed finger to where Arthur Weasley lay on the floor, his wife hovering over him and crying. Potter's eyes went wide and Draco heard him gasp. Fuck. He didn't particularly care for the man, but he'd not been as unpleasant as some of the other members of the Order had been. If there had to have been someone who had to die, Draco could have thought of several others higher on the list.

"Stop crying, Molly," a hoarse voice said, and Potter looked like he might fall over. "I'm fine. I'll get up as soon as this spell fades and I can feel my legs. Just give me a moment, and you'll see."

"Oh, thank God," Potter breathed, but he looked uneasy as he surveyed the rest of the chamber. Bodies were strewn about, and survivors went slowly around, looking for those they knew. Draco recognised most of the robes of the fallen as belonging to members of the Death Eaters, but there were others there, too. Draco saw the form of Mundungus Fletcher being carefully laid out along a wall by two of the other Weasley children, alongside a body that could only be Mad-Eye Moody's. As they both watched, Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt set Hestia Jones's body gently in place in the line of unfortunate Order members, Lupin folding the woman's hands over her chest and closing her eyes.

Draco spied a form with stringy black hair lying facedown on the ground, body half-obscured by a broken table, and his throat tightened. "Severus?"

"No," Weasley said, suddenly behind them. "He's been taken to St Mungo's already. Hagrid carried him out into the courtyard and Fleur did what she could before they all Apparated there. Might be close, but he should make it." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Might have never got along with him, but he saved Hermione from Bellatrix Lestrange just before she turned and got him for interfering. Can't say I minded helping being one of the ones to finish her off, even if she _was_ your aunt, Malfoy."

"I'm fairly certain she would have tried to kill me for what I did, if she'd got the opportunity," Draco said faintly. This hadn't all sunk in yet. Death Eaters were dead at his feet, some of the members of the Order along with them, and Draco was only just processing he hadn't seen his parents one way or the other since the moment his mother had got Potter his wand.

"Oh, looks like Dad's trying to get up," Weasley said, shaking his head. "Like it's no worse than playfighting with us boys when we were kids. Hold on." He stopped and looked back at Potter, a smile breaking over his face. "Glad to have you back, Harry."

Potter gave him a tired-looking smile and leaned into the hug that Granger suddenly offered. "It's not as bad as it could have been," she said quietly as the three of them watched Shacklebolt approach Voldemort's body and murmur a few spells they couldn't make out. "We lost some people, but nowhere near as many as we could have. Half the Order's sustained injuries, but I think —" her voice broke as she looked at the small row of bodies against the wall, "— I think almost everyone will be okay. Snape's in St Mungo's, like Ron said. He got hit pretty hard, but Fleur's a natural with Healing spells. Tonks is probably there already, but Professor McGonagall thinks it's just exhaustion, since she only just had the baby. Neville's there, with Luna, too."

Potter looked perplexed, then concerned. "Neville and Luna?"

"The Order didn't want them getting involved, but since Neville's the one who actually killed Nagini a few weeks ago, and Luna helped him, they sort of argued their way in. But don't worry, Harry, they'll be totally fine. Neville's just a little banged up, and I think someone thought Luna might have taken a couple of spells to the head when she was talking about some plant that might help him."

Potter actually managed a smile, and Draco tuned out the rest of their conversation in order to walk around the room, eyes peeled for sign of his parents. Now that the battle was over, most of the survivors looked ready to celebrate, and, as Draco crept away, Potter was more or less enveloped by the crowd of the victorious. One of the Weasleys had mentioned some Death Eaters fleeing, he recalled as he moved further from the crowd, and he wondered if his parents might be among —

"Draco!"

Whirling around, Draco caught sight of his mother rushing towards him, looking strained but otherwise unharmed. "Mum?"

"Oh, Draco, darling, you're safe," she said, embracing him like she used to when he was young. Normally, he might try to push her away, feeling he was far too old for this sort of thing, but, for the moment, no such desire existed. "Your father and I didn't see where you'd gone, and we thought —"

"I'm fine, Mother, really." He looked over towards where he'd left Potter and saw him being roundly embraced by what looked to be nearly everyone he knew. How many of those people knew Potter had temporarily strayed from the realm of the living, he didn't know, but they all seemed overjoyed he'd survived, especially now that Voldemort was dead, his body still face-down where it had landed after being hit by that unusual-looking combination of spells from his wand and Potter's. "I was with Potter."

Her own eyes swept the room until she found the boy in question, who had finally managed to escape the crush of people. Stepping lightly and quickly amongst the bodies of those who had once forcibly shared their home, she approached Potter and cleared her throat, just as Draco caught up to him. "Harry Potter?"

Potter turned, his eyes going comically wide as he saw who had just addressed him. "Mrs Malfoy?" he said uncertainly, and then he shook himself. "You got me my wand."

She nodded once and dipped her head. Draco had never really seen his mother defer to anyone quite like this. She wasn't broken, but she was... humbled, perhaps, a very unusual thing for her indeed. "Yes."

"I think I might owe you my life for that," Potter said after another moment of awkwardness. 

Draco's mother pursed her lips in something like a smile. "One shouldn't go around making those sorts of comments, Mr Potter. Some might take that as an affirmation of a life debt to collect on later. Besides," she said with a quick glance around to see who might be watching. "It's I who owe you, for keeping Draco safe."

Potter reached up and rubbed at his shoulder. "I think it sort of went both ways," he mumbled.

"Well, you needed _someone_ to try to keep you from rushing into things and killing yourself," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

"I'm not sure you succeeded in anything other than a technical sense," Potter said with a smirk.

Draco's mother looked at them both for a moment, then raised her eyebrows. "If you'll excuse me, I should go and find my husband," she said to Potter. She looked at Draco, and he shut his mind to her before she could pry. Having another Legilimens in the family had proven quite helpful not an hour before, but there were some things he didn't want his mother knowing.

"Harry?"

Both boys turned to find Minerva McGonagall standing behind them, her hair no longer neatly contained by her customary bun, and certainly looking her age. There was blood on one of her sleeves, but Draco didn't think it was her own. "Yes, Professor?"

"Kingsley and a few of the others are staying to sort some things out, and some of the others are headed to St Mungo's to check on the injured. Perhaps it would be best if you, Miss Granger, and Mister Weasley went back to Grimmauld Place to get some rest before everyone else arrives in the next few hours. I think it likely some of you —" she raised a single eyebrow at Potter, who seemingly caught the meaning, "— might need the time to cope in quiet, before the circus resumes."

"Yeah," Potter said after a moment, glancing over at Draco. "I think you're right. I need some time to process everything that's happened."

McGonagall nodded and patted Potter's arm. "Go, then. I'll find Miss Granger and Mister Weasley and present the suggestion to them as well. You can Apparate out as soon as you reach the front lawn." She scrutinised Potter briefly. "You are all right to Apparate? You've... recovered?"

Potter nodded. "I feel fine, Professor. Just sort of... overwhelmed."

"For which no one could fault you."

"I can take him Side-Along, if it's needed," Draco offered, and Potter turned to give him an utterly grateful look.

"Thank you, Draco," she said, giving him a small smile. She paused. "You might want to take some time to yourself as well. It's not every day one puts themselves at such risk to help someone else accomplish their task."

Draco nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"Go, both of you," she said, suddenly brusque again. "While there's a moment you can sneak away. Mister Malfoy, do make certain Harry gets home in one piece. There's going to be a lot of demand for his presence in the coming days, and you might as well take this opportunity for quiet and privacy while you can."

Potter placed one hand on Draco's arm. "I think privacy is exactly what's needed," he said quietly, something in his voice making Draco shiver. "Come on, Malfoy. Let's go."

They were scarcely inside Potter's bedroom, Potter's arm still wrapped around Draco's bicep, before Potter spun them together and pressed Draco up against the bureau, kissing him forcefully.

Draco's breath caught in his throat in surprise before his body responded with alarming enthusiasm. He leaned his shoulders up against the bureau, thrusting his hips into Potter's as one hand cupped the other boy's arse and pulled him close, the other hand snaking up to thread fingers through Potter's dishevelled hair. "Stupid reckless git," he murmured when they broke apart several moments later. "Nearly getting yourself killed."

"I think I actually _did_ get myself killed," Potter said, face pressed against Draco's neck. "But it worked out. And it wouldn't have, without you."

"Shut up," Draco said, nipping at Potter's lip to accomplish the feat. "Less talking, more touching."

Potter grinned at him, slipping one hand inside Draco's robes and stroking his thumb over Draco's ribs. Draco tried not to moan. Such a simple touch, but one he'd been wanting for so long, eager and willing in a way he had never really been before. "I knew it."

"I've not exactly kept it a secret that I want you, Potter," Draco said, letting his head fall back against the bureau.

"Not that," Potter said, shaking his head and beginning to undo the buttons of Draco's robes. "That I wasn't wrong in trusting you, even when it seemed like I was. I just... I didn't know how it would work out. I had no idea what you'd had planned."

Draco raised his head and looked Potter in the eye, undoing the last of the fastenings on his robes and letting them fall to the floor. "I learned from Snape," he said with a smirk. "Of course you didn't suspect. He had all of _you_ fooled, didn't he?" He reached his own hands inside Potter's robes, dipping his head and initiating a long, lingering kiss. He slid one hand down Potter's torso slowly, teasingly, until the palm of his hand cupped Potter's hardening length. 

Potter shuddered against him, moaning softly. "Oh, fuck, Draco," he whispered, breath hot on Draco's neck.

"Yeah, we'll get to that," Draco said, divesting the other boy of his own clothing. He silently led Potter over to the bed and pulled him down until Draco was flat on his back with Potter nearly straddling his hips. "Trust me?"

"Yes," Potter said thickly, tumbling onto his side, rolling Draco with him before pulling the blankets over them both. He wrapped one leg around Draco, their cocks rubbing against each other as he scooted closer. "Yes, I do."

It was the last coherent thing either of them said for quite a while, but they didn't have much use for words. Draco simply followed the cues in Potter's breathing, watched the way he squirmed under Draco's touch, responded to the way his muscles tensed and his eyes squeezed shut. And the gasp from Potter when Draco stroked him after whispering a lubrication spell, followed by his incoherent, throaty moan and full-body shiver when Draco pressed Potter's cock against his hole and slowly lowered himself onto it, was really all the conversation he needed.

It felt so good to have Potter's cock inside him, hands gripping Draco's arse so tightly it was certain he'd have bruises in the pattern of fingertips in the morning. They'd both been waiting for this, in some form, for so long. Potter eventually propped himself up slightly, one hand cupping the back of Draco's neck and pulling him down into a scorching kiss before the hand let go, finally ending up slick with something and wrapped around Draco's leaking cock.

Moaning into Potter's mouth, Draco sped up his rocking, Potter's hand mimicking his movements. After a few moments, Potter's thumb swiped at the base of Draco's head, hand moving frantically, and then he was whimpering with his eyes shut tight, and his entire body tensed as Potter strained with the force of his climax, his cock pumping his release into Draco.

The sight of Potter so completely undone beneath him, writhing and gasping, sent Draco over the edge shortly after. He came in short spurts over Potter's stomach and chest, unable to look away from the blissed-out expression on the other boy's face. He let Potter roll them both, feeling distinctly empty when Potter slipped out of him, until they were facing each other on their sides underneath the blankets. 

Potter grinned at him sleepily and pressed his lips softly against Draco's, sighing when Draco kissed him back. Neither of them said a word, content to drift along, riding the slow, lulling wave of their release. Draco wasn't sure how long they lay like that, not asleep, but far from wide awake, but when Potter tried to slip out of the blankets and stand up on one side of the bed, he woke completely. "Where are you going?"

"There are people arriving downstairs," Potter replied, sounding absolutely exhausted. "I really should go down and talk to them." He bent over, fumbling for his robes, and staggered, leaning against the bedpost for support.

"Just a moment," Draco said, watching him. "Let me get you some cold water. It'll help." He slid into his own robes much more easily than Potter was managing and slipped down the hall, returning with a half-glass of water, which he handed over without another word.

Potter downed the contents in a single draught, setting the glass on the dresser and resuming the fight with his clothing. After a moment, he went totally still before wavering and sitting heavily on the side of the bed. "That wasn't just water," he slurred, raising his head to meet Draco's watchful gaze as he disrobed again.

"No. Sleeping potion," Draco confirmed, climbing across the bed and helping to ease Potter back onto his half, divesting him once again of his robes. "You're shattered, Potter," he said softly. "I know what you need, even if you don't."

"You bastard, drugging me," Potter murmured. He yawned hugely, eyes slipping closed, managing to throw one arm around Draco and dragging him close. "What I need is _you_."

"Yeah," Draco said softly as Potter began to snore. He smirked and readjusted his position within Potter's grasp until he was comfortable, his face pressed into Potter's shoulder. "I know."

_ Fin _

  



End file.
